


Raging heart

by J_Antebellum



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M, Pre Cormoran Strike Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:21:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 38,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28095357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Antebellum/pseuds/J_Antebellum
Summary: Strike and Robin meet back in 2004.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 47
Kudos: 22





	1. Soldier to the rescue

**Chapter 1:**

_March 5_ _th_ _, 2004_

It was so cold that the smoke from the fag flew in the air and mixed with the smoke from his own warm breath, as he stood by Pollock's Halls of Residence, staring at the nice-looking, modern building where some of the best students of the UK lived. The University of Edinburgh in Scotland was, indeed, one of the most prestigious universities one could attend in the United Kingdom, and these were their students' residences. At this hour though, nearly eight in the afternoon, the streets were practically empty, and only a few students, often in groups of three or four, walked about, giggling and fooling around. Only ten years before, Strike hadn't been too different. Before his life had changed so drastically, he had been able to be foolish and reckless too.

Now, he wore his Red Cap army uniform, a red cap firmly placed on his head, and was close to thirty, just coming from having had to visit the Special Investigation Branch of the army in Edinburgh Castle, for a report on an important mission. It was a prestigious place to go to, but Strike had afterwards felt in need for a walk, and had distractedly walked for half an hour, towards where the most green lands area stood, forming the huge Holyrood Park. Part of the reason he had been able to walk so much had been the arguing he had been having on the phone with his on-and-off girlfriend in London, Charlotte Ross, an argument that had made his blood boil and his legs, firm and muscled supporting his fit body, walk faster, with anger, while he lighted another fag.

As his fag died and fell to the ground, Strike took a deep breath, closing his eyes and feeling himself relax. He was thin and tall, very tall, and very muscled-up, his short curly hair was rebellious, and his beard was cleanly shaved, revealing a round face with hairy, robust dark eyebrows and a sullen expression. He clenched and unclenched his fists, relaxing further, and let another long breathe out as he opened his eyes and faced the beautiful building. But suddenly, he scowled, seeing a dark figure stand by the main door, look around, not seeing Strike, who was hidden in the dark, and entering in a suspicious manner an experienced SIB with nine years of training and employment could easily detect.

Strike didn't think twice and, walking slowly, casually, followed the person with expertise into the building, walking a few meters behind. Inside the residential building, he was confused for a second, seeing himself in an unfamiliar space full of students who were still awake. Any of them could've been the person he had seen, as it had been far too dark for him to actually see him, and he had been quite far away. Strike decided to walk around just in case he saw anything strange, because he had seen a warning on the news about a guy in the area that had raped two students, and took the stairs to the next floor, pacing around the area with curiosity. After about half an hour walking around, nothing seemed abnormal, all was good, so he walked looking for an exit of the building.

It took Strike a long time to find a way out, as he didn't want to go over his steps, thinking he could find a closer exit that didn't seem to appear. Finally, he found a staircase going to the floor below and he took it, but a noise, almost imperceptible in that zone of the building, that was in great silence as it appeared that the bedrooms were there, made him stop on a step of the stairs, listening closely with eardrums well-trained through growing up in the musical world.

It was a sob.

Muffled, chocked-out, a sob. Strike walked slowly, carefully, down the stairs, feeling the sobbing came from the stairwell, from a cavity behind the stairs, actually, in the floor below.

Despite all the horrors he had seen around the world as a soldier, what he saw twisted his insides in a knot and widened his eyes with horror. There was a young lady thrown on the floor, curled into a ball, sobbing without making much noise, but in a wrecking way. She was thrown haphazardly, her hair beautiful, long, strawberry-blonde was dishevelled and fell over her face, and her clothes looked haphazardly put on.

“Hello?” Strike said as softly and gently as he could. He felt worse when he saw the expected reaction, the woman stopping sobbing in her tracks and visibly trembling, pressing herself against the wall, still on the floor, and trying to cover herself with her arms. “Hey... are you okay?” Strike said gently. The woman pretended not to exist. “Listen, I'm Sergeant Cormoran Strike, from the army, we've got a building in the castle nearby, did you know? I was just doing some vigilance here and... I couldn't help but notice you seem unwell. Do you think perhaps I can help you?” he spoke practically in the way he spoke to his two little nephews, aged two and almost one. Lucy had been adamant he'd go to London the following month for Jack's first birthday. His voice was sweet and gentle, and he tried to earn her trust. He didn't want to scare her by jumping on her, or hurrying towards her.

“Please...” the voice sobbed out, crying again. She sounded chocked, hoarse. “Please, don't hurt me... please... no more...”

“I'm not going to hurt you. Are you hurt? I'm going to call 999, all right? Would that be okay?”

“Just go away, please, just go...” she cried out, muffling her sobbing with hiding behind her arms.

“I promise you I will go when I know you're okay. Listen,” Strike sat on the floor, a few meters from her, as she hid in the darkness of the cavity under the stairs. “I'm just a soldier, I promise you. Look, I'm in uniform and all. And I know you're very scared, possibly hurt, it's my job to help. I know a couple girls in the area were attacked recently, has that happened to you? Because if that's the case, I'm not going anywhere, okay? He won't hurt you again, I won't let him. But please don't ask me to go and leave you all alone and crying, you sound so sad... can't I help?”

The woman had sit up and was hugging her knees and sobbing into her lap, seemingly trying to camouflage with the darkness and the wall, although the bit of light there was did shine on her hair. Strike heard her sniffle, and she seemed to be trying to ignore him. Strike could see her tremble, and knew she was terrified. By that point, he was certain something terrible had happened. Her clothes looked definitely like someone had pulled hard, and she had vaguely put them back in place.

“Listen, I'm not going to get closer if you don't want me to, all right?” Strike informed her, trying to make her less scared. She seemed to be crying less, and just breathing heavy. Strike observed her in silence for a few minutes. He didn't want to call 999 either, not unless she approved it. He was starting to think if a bunch of people suddenly appeared, she'd have a heart attack, so he just observed her trying to calm herself. He thought maybe she'd let him help if he wasn't such a stranger so, after a few minutes, he spoke again, almost in a whisper. “I'm sorry if I'm scaring you, but I can't leave you so vulnerable or someone may come and hurt you... but you don't have to be afraid of me. I grew up with a little sister, she's in London, Lucy. We grew up in a small coastal town in Cornwall, you see? So I've always been around women... I was brought-up by our mother, no father. And I'm respectful, I promise. So, I want to help you, but we're going to do this at your own rhythm, okay? When you're ready, I'm going to be right here. And when you're ready, I can call an ambulance, police, a friend, family... whoever you need. Whenever you're ready.”

A few minutes later, he thought she had calmed down in silence, at least a little, but that she was still scared and shaken-up. Strike closed his eyes and without really thinking, started singing 'Nickelback' very, very softly, and very low.

“ _Please let me take you... out of the darkness, and into the light...'cause I have faith in you, you're far too young, and the best is yet to come..._ ” Strike sang. “ _Stop thinking about, the easy way out, there's no need to go and burn the candle out, because you're not done, you're far too young, and the best is yet to come... so just give it one more try to this lullaby, and turn this up on the radio...if you can hear me now I'm reaching out, to let you know that you're not alone...Well everybody's hit the bottom, and everybody's been forgotten, well everybody's tired of being alone. Yeah, everybody's been abandoned, left a little empty-handed, so if you're out there barely hanging on...just give it one more try to this lullaby, and turn this up on the radio, if you can hear me now, I'm reaching out-,”_

The lady interrupted all of the sudden, and he wasn't sure he had heard her, from how weak her voice was.

“Are you really a soldier?” she asked.

“I swear I am,” replied Strike staring at the figure.

“And...” the lady took a shaking breath. “Are you a good person? Will you really call 999?”

“If you want me to, of course.”

“Call them. In voice-mail, so I can hear them... Tell them... tell them...”

“That a student's been attacked?” Strike suggested, hearing her hesitancy.

“Yeah...” a sniffled. “Yeah...”

Strike nodded and did as she requested. When she heard the full phone conversation and the emergency service on the other line, she knew he had truly called and slowly made her way out of her hiding place, standing-up precariously and walking over to him. She saw the surprise in his face, then a scowl, as he noticed one of her eyes was so swollen she couldn't open it, purple as it was, and that she was barely standing-up on her own, shaking, her face swollen and tear-stained, her trousers blood-stained, and strangulation marks on her neck. He jumped to his feet and good thing he hurried-up, because she collapsed on his arms. Next thing Strike knew, she was unconscious and evidently hurt.


	2. I'll be there

**Chapter 2:**

“Careful,” Strike repeated for what felt like the tenth time. The paramedics were accommodating the young girl on a stretched. She looked terrible, and so young, and Strike felt bad he had literally been walking around for safety for an hour, yet hadn't been there to save her. She couldn't be older than twenty-one yet, she looked sixteen.

Her face was round and sweet, with chubby cheeks, one eye so swollen and purple, her lip cut and bleeding, strangulation marks on her neck, a bruise on her forehead, that was swelling. She had a swollen hand, and Strike heard the paramedics comment two fingers seemed fractured, like she had fought hard. The paramedics were also quick to find signs of rape.

“Who is she?” the paramedic asked Strike.

“I've got no idea. I was just at the castle, for work, and passed by...” Strike shrugged, standing by the stretcher. A policewoman who was digging in a purse found on the floor soon had answers.

“Robin V. Ellacott,” the policewoman informed. “Her wallet's right here, with her students' card. She's a freshmen, nineteen-years-old. Poor thing...”

“Must be the same son of a bitch who attacked the other two, this one's been so lucky if he tried to strangle her,” a policeman commented. Then, looked at lower-ranked uniforms. “I want you registering the area. Knock on doors, ask everyone you find, get the CCTV footage. We're finding this criminal tonight.”

“There's a mobile phone,” the policewoman added, still registering the wallet. “And in her wallet there's a picture of a red-headed family, and one of a handsome young man, so she's got a family, probably even a boyfriend. I'll locate them and call them.”

Strike had already told them everything he had seen, and they had written it down, so he simply moved to follow the stretcher into the ambulance as she was wheeled while oxygen was pumped through a face mask.

“You can't come in the ambulance, only family,” the paramedic stopped him. “Sorry, rules are rules.”

“I'm a Sergeant,” Strike frowned. “And she's got no one else here. I demand-,”

He couldn't finish the sentence, as Robin had regained conscience and was agitated, trying to sit up and kicking and throwing fists, trying to rip the IV they had placed in her arm and the oxygen mask and screaming. The paramedics went to restrain her, but Strike knew that would only make her more nervous. She didn't want strangers touching her.

“Robin,” Strike said softly hugging her with only one arm, only enough to keep her arms from moving. “Robin, listen to me, remember me, Cormoran?” at being called by name, Robin looked at him with one scared and tearful blue-grey eye. The other, he couldn't see with the swollen eyelids. “Hi,” Strike smiled gently at her. “Breathe, it's okay. They're paramedics. The mask will help you breathe better, just breathe and you'll see how you feel calmer.” Strike breathed deeply himself to show her, and she imitated, relaxing back against the mattress. “That's a good job, you're a pro in this. Hey, Robin, could you tell me the name of someone we can call to come?”

She looked panicked for a second but then, she relaxed, and nodded.

“My Dad, Michael. Phone password's 18155,” Robin said hoarsely, her voice muffled a little by the mask. Strike repeated it to the police, who thanked, already digging into her phone.

“Good job,” Strike smiled at her. She had a Yorkshire accent. “They're taking you to the hospital, all right? I'll see you there.”

But Robin's healthy hand gripped strongly his uniform and a tear fell down her cheek.

“Please,” she sobbed suddenly. “Please, don't leave me!” she cried. Strike looked at the paramedics.

“Please...” he began.

“Fine,” the paramedic nodded. “Come on, let's get this girl to the best doctor we can find.”

During the fifteen-minute ambulance trip, Robin sobbed silently and clutched his shirt, and he took her hand between his and tried to comfort her while paramedics whispered words of comfort and evaluated her injuries. There were broken ribs, bruises all over. She had fought hard. They made it to the big, blue building that was the Western General Hospital, and Strike ran by the stretcher as Robin was rushed into the Emergency Room. Strike couldn't accompany her there, but promised he'd wait right outside, and, now sedated, Robin was easier to convince to let him go.

Strike was informed she needed to be taken to the theatre to fix bleeding inside of her, from the rape, and Strike decided to wait outside. If her family was from Yorkshire, they wouldn't arrive in hours, as it was a four hour plane trip, plus the time to pack, go to the airport and to the hospital, and depended on when they found a plane ticket. They would likely not be there until the morning, and Strike refused to leave her alone so long. His mother had raised him to be a gentleman, no less. The nineteen-year-old was traumatized, Strike imagined how gravely, and if there was a moment to sit by a stranger through the night in hospital, it was now.

It took a couple hours before Strike was guided to a room full of beds, on one of which Robin slept, drugged-up with sedatives. They had had to perform multiple tests for brain injures, fix her fingers, that were now in a mini cast for fingers, examine her and make sure her eye and throat would be fine. It looked less swollen now and the doctors said she would be, physically, completely fine. The concussion was also very tiny, she'd recover. Mentally and psychologically was another story.

The soldier had been sitting by the bed for an hour when the policewoman who had been at the scene when Robin was attacked came around.

“Ms Ellacotts' parents will be here as soon as they can. They live in Masham, Yorkshire, so it'll take a while, no way they're here before tomorrow. The bastard ran away, we lost him again... the Dean has confirmed she is a psychology student, was just finishing her first year.”

“Damn...” Strike shook his head. “Well, I'll stay here until the Ellacotts are back. Make sure the twat doesn't come back.”

“We're patrolling everywhere and checking cameras and witness, he can't go far,” the policewoman nodded. “Sure you've got no relationship with the victim?”

“Sure as hell,” Strike confirmed. “Think she'd trust me like you've seen if I had hurt her? She saw him; he tried to strangle her to death. I bet she'll have a description for you soon.”

Strike was awoken again hours later, with a nightmare of his late mother's death, and when he opened his eyes, it was still late at night and, to his surprise, Robin was shyly staring at him, looking serious.

“Hi,” Strike attempted a smile. “How're you feeling?”

“Bit shit,” Robin replied. “The sedatives feel good though. No pain. You're Cormoran, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks for helping...and accompanying me. You're free to go home, though. You must be a very busy man.” She murmured. Her voice was still quite hoarse and her eye was bloodshot.

“I will go tomorrow, when your parents arrive. The police says you're from Masham, so they'll need some time to get here,” Strike commented. “My job is to serve my country, Robin. Right now, my greatest mission is to be here for you.”

“Thanks... I wouldn't want to... be alone.”

“I'm sorry to ask, but I need to do it before your memory gets worse...” Strike looked uncomfortable. “What do you remember?”

“I uh...” Robin took a deep breath. “I went to a students bar with some friends, only drank a glass of wine, I wasn't drunk. I walked back to my residence in Pollock Halls...” Robin gulped, looking away. “He caught me by surprise. I faked my death and he left.”

He was visibly impressed that, under such enormous tension, anxiety and stress, in such agony, with hands on your neck feeling the air come with difficulty, she had managed to relax herself to command herself to fake her own death and save herself. Many animals did that.

“Very smart of you,” Strike said with a nod.

“He had vitiligo,” Robin said suddenly. “I remember he had a white patch under his ear.”

His surprise was even greater, his eyes widened, and he praised her while punching 999 on his phone to give the police the update. Afterwards, Robin was falling asleep again, and she had time enough to thank him before she was deep asleep, and Strike too, little after.


	3. Return home

**Chapter 3:**

Strike was woken-up by a kind-hearted, short, plump, brunette nurse, very early in the morning. While the nurse checked Robin's vitals and the machines, cleaned the tiny syringe and IV wounds, and made sure she was sleeping comfortably, even if the young student didn't have a peaceful expression and sometimes murmured in her sleep things they couldn't understand, probably suffering nightmares or disrupting dreams.

“Was she given the day-after pill?” he asked the nurse before she left.

“Yes,” the nurse nodded. “She's not pregnant, no worries. They had to clean everything inside, the bastard had caused a ripping and internal bleeding, that's why she fainted. Luckily it wasn't biggie, or she'd have bleed to death.”

He sat again by the bed and watched as Robin slept. His phone then buzzed and he saw he had ignored many texts and missing calls since he had exited the SIB offices the day before.

 **Corm, how did it go? Still coming down to London?** \- Ilsa.

 **Hey mate, Ils and I can't wait to see you! You'll love the new house, I'm buying plenty of beer!** \- Nick.

 **Stick, when do you arrive in London? We could pick you up from the station. Lots of love!** \- Lucy.

 **Call me ASAP, or we're over –** Charlotte.

Strike frowned and kept going over the texts. Ilsa and Nick had sent a few more asking if all was good and he was coming to London, so Strike sent them a quick text apologizing for not answering sooner and explaining he had witnessed a crime in Edinburgh and may need an extra day there to sort things out and make sure everything was all right before he could come down to London. He gave a similar text to his younger sister Lucy, and ignoring the over a dozen texts from Charlotte with threats and whatnots.

Soon, he had fallen asleep again, sitting, snoring softly. It seemed like he had only just fallen asleep though, when he was again woken-up hours later, by the same nurse.

“Excuse me, Sergeant Strike,” the nurse said apologetic. “Ms Ellacott's parents are here. Perhaps you should go and give them some privacy?”

Strike looked-up, confused, and then nodded, and stood-up. He saw Robin was still asleep, and then noticed the two middle-aged people coming with panicked expressions, rushing guided by a doctor. He considered he should stay for a moment just to introduce himself and answer any questions they might have, since he had been the first respondent, so he stood back, zipping up his jacket and trying to look as decent as possible.

The agitated parents, one dark-haired and with hazel eyes, some grey locks, and another with long strawberry-blonde hair and blue-grey eyes like Robin, approached and listened to the doctor as they looked anxiously at the daughter, who slept ignoring all else. She, however, woke-up after a minute of the doctor speaking, and then the parents were distracted hugging her and kissing her, and Robin looked relieved to be in her mother's arms as the older woman sat by her side on the bed and put her arms around her. Strike was surprised to see the parents didn't cry, but held it together for their daughter, showing major strength. Only when the doctor left did Robin seem to truly wake-up and acknowledge the situation properly, accepting the nurse's offer to bring her some breakfast in half an hour and looking at Strike with the confused expression of someone who remembers something she'd rather believe hadn't happened. Then, as her eyes moved to him, so did her parents' eyes.

“Excuse me,” Mr Ellacott said, looking at him. “Are you a friend of Robin's?”

“Oh, my bad, sorry,” Strike produced a polite smile and offered him a hand. “I'm Sergeant Cormoran Strike, from the Royal Military Police's Special Investigation Branch. I found your daughter last night and I didn't want to leave until you were with her. Must've been a rushed trip, can I fetch you some tea or anything?” Both Mr and Mrs Ellacott looked surprised and looked back at her daughter as if expecting an explanation that Robin was quick to offer, nervously.

“Uh, Mum, Dad, Cormoran's been so kind to stick with me the whole time. He hasn't left my bedside...”

“Well,” Mr Ellacott nodded, turning to face Strike. “That's so very nice of you, thank you, truly. Our Robin...” he sighed and Strike nodded in understanding. “She's our world, but so far away, we didn't even want to think she'd be here all alone.”

“Police said she wasn't alone, but we thought it was a classmate or a nurse,” Mrs Ellacott added. “I'm Linda, and this is my husband Michael,” she added, smiling warmly at him. Michael nodded and offered Strike a hand he shook firmly, but Linda didn't seem willing to separate from her daughter. “How can we thank you?”

“We should invite you to dinner one day or something...” Michael suggested.

“No, please, not at all. I was just doing my job, can't accept any rewards for that. Just be with Robin, and that'll be more than enough for me,” Strike said. “So, tea?”

“Yes,” Michael nodded.

“That'd be great,” Linda agreed.

“Thank you, Cormoran,” added Robin.

Strike nodded and after memorizing their preferences with tea, he walked to find the cafeteria and get four take-out teas. A herbal tea, two normals, and a strong creosote one, in disposable takeaway cups, were balanced in his big hands and he walked back to Robin's, without a hurry. He took his time to give the family a moment, and when he arrived Robin was just eating breakfast without much appetite. Strike gave each their cup and took a long sip of his own.

“We couldn't help to wonder, Sergeant-,”

“Just Cormoran is fine.”

“-right, Cormoran,” continued Linda Ellacott. “What's a sergeant doing in students' residences?”

“Sure,” Strike nodded. It wasn't a bad question. “You see, the Special Investigations Branch has offices in Edinburgh Castle, which is about a half an hour walk from the residential building. I was just walking around after having been in the offices, having a fag if I'm honest, when I thought I saw a suspicious person enter the building. I had heard about the two students that were raped in the area, it was in the news-,”

“Was it?” Michael looked at Robin.

“Yeah,” Robin looked ashamed, and stared down. Her neck and face still looked ugly, although she could half-open the wounded eye now. “A guy with a gorilla mask. Attacked two girls this week.”

“Which is why I decided it didn't hurt to look around,” said Strike. “But of course, I didn't know the building and there were many students in the ground floor, so when I entered, I found out I could've seen any of them. It was very dark, I couldn't distinguish anything, I was a bit far. I decided to walk around anyway, just in case, and saw Robin. When the police came, I heard she was so young and that's why I decided I should stick around until you could come.”

“Well thank God you made a good call,” said Linda, nodding. She kissed her daughter's head. “Come on, love, eat a bit more. The doctor said you could come home tomorrow, and your Dad's going to speak to the Dean today and sort-out some sort of mini-holiday so you can send your work via email or something from home, and Stephen's calling Matt to tell him today, luckily Matt can come over, that'd help, right?”

Strike supposed Matt was Robin's boyfriend, and she seemed overwhelmed then, but she merely nodded, looking grim.

“Cormoran, any chance you might be able to give the police any clues about this... this monster?” Michael asked him.

“I'm sorry, I didn't see him.”

“I did see,” said Robin suddenly. “The gorilla mask, the white patch from vitiligo right behind his ear. And one of his pupils was fixed, dilated.” Her parents and Strike looked at her full of surprise.

“Are you sure?” Strike asked.

“Crystal clear,” Robin nodded sure of herself, defiance in her eyes as if she dared anyone to know better than she did.

“That's very good Robin, impressive,” Strike said sincerely, making her blush. “You'll tell the police, won't you?”

“Sure,” Robin nodded again.

“Good. Listen, Robin,” Strike approached the bed a little, and sighed. “I'm very sorry about what's happened. I wish I could've gotten there soon enough to break his bastard nose before he could even raise a finger towards you... and if people had done their job properly, this wouldn't have happened. The same warning you had, police had it, they should've done better. I'm sorry and...” Strike rummaged in a pocket and successfully extracted a card and handed it to her, along with another of Ilsa Herbert. “This is my number. If you ever need anything, I'm not often in the UK, but I'll do my best to help you whenever is possible. I've got a friend, in London, she's a great lawyer and she'd be happy to work for you if this ends in the tribunals and make you a special prize, okay? We're great friends, and she hates rapists like Hitler hated the Jews, so she'll help.”

“Thank you,” Robin's eyes well tearful, but also full of honesty. She gripped the card as if it was a lifesaver and she was drowning. “Thank you so much for everything. I won't forget everything you've done for me.”

“If you ever come to Yorkshire, Cormoran,” Linda added. “Pass by Masham and visit us, will you? Some tea and pastries, they're the best in Yorkshire.”

“Thank you, I will,” Strike nodded grateful. “Well I should go now, I'm supposed to be in London... You stay strong, okay? What you did, fighting the guy like you did, everything... it was very bad-ass. You're a very tough girl, don't let that son of a bitch take life away from you. He's done enough. Police will catch him, I'm sure, thanks to your evidence. There'll be better days, you will see.”

“Cormoran, before you go,” Robin said when he was about to turn away, quickly reaching for her mobile and, ignoring people's texts and missing calls, messaging Strike's number, after saving him in the contacts. Strike's phone buzzed and he saw a text from an unknown number. “That's my number. Let's stay in touch, right?”

“Absolutely. Best of luck, Robin.”

“You too.”

As Strike entered the train on the way back to London and sent a message to Lucy to inform her Ilsa would pick him up, since her Law Firm was near Kings' Cross, but Robin was permanently in his mind. He changed into civilian clothes in the train, and lied on the bed, ready to fall asleep again. Two hours later, his phone buzzing woke him up and he saw it was Charlotte. Tiredly, he took the call.

“Don't you fucking give a shit about your damn girlfriend?” Charlotte screamed into his ear.

“What's the problem, Charlotte?” Strike asked calmly, lying down on the bed.

“You know perfectly well what the problem is, you bloody-!”

“Okay, fine,” Strike sighed. “Look, I'm very sorry I ignored you, baby, but you know I hate threats,” he used his best soothing, sweet voice, “listen, Char, I'm on the train now getting to London. Ilsa's going to pick me up, I'll have dinner with them tonight, and visit you tomorrow morning, I promise. I love you, you know that.”

“You don't love me so much if you could ignore me all night, after the fight we had yesterday...”

“Sweetheart, I wasn't ignoring you; it was work. I know it seems hard to believe,” he added, hearing Charlotte's exasperated puff of air through the phone. “But it's the truth. That's why I'm leaving now and now yesterday.”

“Fine...” Charlotte sighed. “Why don't you come over tonight? I haven't seen you in months, I miss you, Bluey...”

“And I miss you too, but it's better we wait until tomorrow. Put it this way, if you're the last person I see then I don't have to leave you to go see anyone else, we can have some fun, uh?” Strike thought of Charlotte's great beauty, her perfect breasts, her curvy hips, the way she opened to him as if he was made for her. It made him feel turned-on all of the sudden.

Charlotte was, at last, placated, and Strike hung up and devoted to having some snacks and sleeping more. He woke up again when the train was around Biggleswade, and stayed awake, preparing to exit the train. Walking around King's Cross, it wasn't hard to spot the giant 'WELCOME HOME SERGEANT SEXY' sign and he rolled eyes and chuckled at the sight of his best friends all excited behind it. As soon as it was possible, Ilsa, his best friend from his childhood, ran to him and was hugging him so tightly he thought he couldn't breathe, and telling him how much she loved him and had missed him.

  
  



	4. Anniversary

**Chapter 4:**

After seven months between Cyprus and Germany, one would've thought it'd be weird to sit with his sister, brother-in-law, two best friends and two baby nephews around the table for lunch, but to Strike it felt like nothing much had changed. He contemplated his toddler nephew and the 11-month-old one with indifferent eyes, kept his relationship with his brother-in-law to a minimum, corresponded his sister's affection with sincerity, and laughed at her best friends' jokes until he cried of laughter. At last, it was the time to explain what had occurred in Edinburgh, without much detail, and Ilsa was very pleased to hear he had already given Robin her card.

“Poor thing,” Lucy said, holding her youngest child, Jack, between her arms. “Do you think she'll be all right?”

“I hope so,” Strike replied. “I'll see what I can do.”

“I'll call her tomorrow morning,” said Ilsa. “We'll kick that monster's arse all the way to prison.”

“That's the wife I love,” Nick grinned, kissing Ilsa. “Speaking of women, have you visited Charlotte yet?”

Strike had to explain they had been fighting again, so he'll see her in the morning, try to have a romantic day in her flat, where he usually stayed when he was in London. His loved-ones had it difficult to show they actually cared about Charlotte, who they considered a royal bitch who didn't deserve Strike in the slightest, but were sympathetic of him and tried to come-up with other advice better than 'leave her'.

“So what's the plan now?” asked Nick as they ate.

“Yeah, Stick, you'll stay for a while now right?” Lucy couldn't help her hopeful tone.

“I'll stay for a few months,” Strike confirmed with a nod. “I've got some work to do in London, I'll stay at Charlotte's, probably visit St. Mawes at some point... but it all depends. In theory, the army should let me be here for six months or so before another trip, but since they're not really deployments, it doesn't have to be that way forcefully. If tomorrow I get a call saying they need me in, say, Iraq... I'll have to go. Besides, I mostly do suspicious killed-in-action, and those happen all the time.” He threw an olive into his mouth and hummed in enjoyment. “Ah, food's really not the same out there! Except Germany – those! Are decent hamburgers. This size, I swear! And the beer!” he gesticulated with his hands a big size and Ilsa chuckled, while Lucy rolled eyes.

“We'll enjoy you while we can then,” commented Greg, Lucy's husband from the past five years, without much enthusiasm.

“It'd be lovely if you could spend more time with your nephews though...” lamented Lucy, squeezing Strike's hands. “You'll be Jack's godfather, right? We want all our children to have the same one, we'll baptize him in the summer, if you're available, or whenever you can.”

“Anything you want, Luce,” Strike nodded. “I'll do what I can. But I honestly don't get why you want me to be their godfather, I haven't done anything different with Edward since I'm godfather. I'm not religious, and I'm not even around much. Perhaps you should find someone who's going to impact their lives more than I can.”

“Well, excuse me, but their godfather is the person in charge of them if anything happens to us, which hopefully will never happen, and then there's only you, Stick,” Lucy chastised gently. “I expect you to put them first and care for them as a father if the situation came-up, you know? There's no one else. Greg has no siblings, I've got no one else, and I can't ask Ted and Joan, who might as well by dead as well if that happened, since they're getting old.”

“Lucy, if what worries you is making sure your children will be okay if anything happens to their parents, you know I wouldn't turn my back on them, you know godfather or not, I'm their uncle and I would put everything aside and make sure they're fine, care for them,” Strike said, as much as he disliked that line of investigation. But having lost a mother, and knowing fully well the importance of a surrogate parent, Lucy was obsessed with it, particularly since the birth of Edward.

“Would you, Corm, really?” Lucy sought reassurance. “You'd be their surrogate father if you had to? No army, no Charlotte?”

“Fucks sakes Luce,” Strike murmured, tired with the topic, but Lucy didn't relent. “Yes, all right? Yes. But don't you jinx it, will you? What happened to Mum, won't ever happen to you. I wouldn't allow it. And besides, you're married to Greg, there's no comparison...”

“She worries too much, I tell her all the time,” Greg said gently. “She wants it all sorted-out just in case, ever since Eddie. She's even talking testaments, and we're not even thirty!” he chuckled affectionately. Ilsa gave Lucy a sympathetic smile and Nick looked comprehensive.

“Well, she's prudent,” Nick said. “We get a testament updated once a year or every couple years as well.”

“Do you?” Strike asked incredulous.

“Don't you, being a soldier?” Ilsa asked surprised. “I'm a lawyer, and he's a doctor, obviously we'd sort those things out.”

“See? I'm not paranoid,” Lucy told her husband.

“I've got one testament, yes,” Strike shrugged. “But I wrote it only last summer, and only because Charlotte was being a pain in the arse about it.”

“Corm, one has to be prudent,” Lucy insisted. “Do you think Mum planned to be murdered? But if she hadn't been prudent enough to at least sort some things out, even though she was the chaos she was, God knows what would've happened to us! See, even Mum did it! If she did it, anyone else should, it's enough of a proof. Hadn't she, and we'd probably been separated. I would've been sent with my Dad, and you with Ted and Joan.”

“And then you'd have demanded to stay with Ted and Joan and your father would've conceded because he actually likes you and gives a shit,” Strike shrugged. “Glad you're a thinker with your feet on the ground, Luce, but you need to relax a bit, okay? Think so much about those things, and you'll attract them.”

“Oh, like you believe on those things,” Ilsa teased. Strike rolled eyes and smirked. “So this Robin, Corm, you said she'll call me?”

“I think she will,” said Strike. “Not completely sure.”

“She's just a kid, God,” Lucy sighed sadly. “I hope she calls you.”

“Me too,” Ilsa nodded.

“She'll probably be busy with therapists and all now though,” Nick commented, his fork suspended in the air as he gulped down. “Those things are absolute crap...”

“You said she's nineteen?” Greg asked, bouncing Eddie on his lap as he tried to coax him to eat some.

“Yeah,” Strike nodded.

“Curious, isn't it?” Greg commented distractedly.

“Why, darling?” asked Lucy.

“Well,” Greg looked at her, “wasn't Corm as old when your Mum? It's been ten years, and this girl is ten years younger. It's a curious coincidence.”

Strike scowled, leaning back in his chair and using his tongue to remove food from between his teeth, while Lucy looked surprised for a moment and then nodded.

“I suppose,” Lucy said.

“I wasn't nineteen, anyway,” Strike said serenely. “I had already turned twenty. According to Robin's driver's license, she's barely just turned nineteen last October.”

“Terrible,” his sister sighed, shaking her head.

As Strike lied in his best friends' guest room's bed that night, Robin passed through his mind more than one time. He knew she must be terrible still, perhaps now home, and wished, more than anything, that she wouldn't cry for one night. He didn't know why, but that young girl was stuck in his mind. He couldn't forget her pain, her scared figure on the floor, her panic, the fear and pain in her light, beautiful eyes. Something in his gut ached for her and he wished that his genre wasn't such rubbish; that there weren't men like Jeff Whittaker, nor like the monster that had hurt Robin and other girls so gravely.

In the morning, Strike packed his things again, bid affective farewell to Nick and Ilsa, and took a taxi to Chelsea, where Charlotte Campbell, the socialite he had called girlfriend on-and-off for the past ten years. It was just their anniversary, and Strike bought flowers, wine, and expensive chocolates and put on his best suit before appearing at Charlotte's flat. She opened the door sleepy but with a smile and Strike grinned and held out the bouquet of roses.

“Good morning, gorgeous! Happy anniversary,” Strike said, putting a strong arm around her, and kissing her tightly.

An hour later, he lied naked on the king size bed, and Charlotte rolled off him, throwing an arm around him, nuzzling into his neck, and resting content. Strike put his arms around her and kissed her forehead.

“That was pretty good,” Charlotte said content. Her long, beautiful dark hair, formed waved over her pallid back. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” Strike rolled on his size, cupping her sculptured, perfect face, with big, calloused, hairy hands, and kissing her sweetly. “Round two?” he asked raising an eyebrow, already getting hard. Charlotte giggled, enjoying her power, and already moving a hand to caress him between his legs.

“Sure, but first, where's my present?”

“Babe, what present? I gave you roses, chocolates, wine, and now the best sex ever,” Strike smirked. “This is Christmas, pretty much!” Charlotte frowned and sat up.

“So you didn't care to get me anything with actual value? A bunch of cheap, meaningless stuff, and sex? Really? It's our tenth anniversary, I expected something special!” Strike puffed angrily and sat up too.

“This is special to me, you know? Charlotte, I'm not rich, I can't buy you fucking diamonds every time...”

“It's our tenth! It only happens once in a lifetime!”

“Well, I'll take you to a restaurant and we'll have a romantic dinner if you'd like. We could do spa in the weekend!”

“Will you take me to the Arab baths?” Charlotte gave him puppy eyes.

“Charlotte, those are super expensive! Why don't we go to the ones your friend Alice recommended? They were cheaper...”

“If you loved me, you wouldn't care how expensive it was!”

“Oh, I'm sorry if I can't invent money! Fuck Charlotte, you have to ruin everything, we were having a bloody good time...!”

“ _I_ , ruin everything?! At least I give a shit!”

“Oh yeah, what did you give me?”

“You're the man, and you're the one who's so content with sex so I shouldn't give you nothing else! What kind of gentleman-?!”

“You know I've never had much money, I've spent a good deal in these gifts you value so little and I thought seeing your so missed boyfriend would be meaningful as well, yet all you care is diamonds!”

“You could've bought a bloody trip or a dress, it didn't have to be-!”

“And you could be a bit less superficial!”

“Jago would've given me at least a shitty bracelet, you didn't even bother, you just went to the cheapest store and-!”

The pair was yelling at each other, and Strike stood up angrily, putting on his underwear.

“Then go to bloody Jago! Honourable dick-head!”

“Don't talk of him like that, you're just jealous!”

“Jealous! Charlotte, I swear, if I ever am like him in the slightest I will shot myself, how could I ever be jealous?!”

“Jago's a future viscount, he's got way more money than you could ever dream of and-!”

“And I don't give a shit! Go with him if he's so cool!”

“Maybe I will!”

“Great!”

Strike was fully dressed now, rage making him fast. Charlotte stood up as she shouted at him with her sharp, high voice.

“We're over, Bluey!” Charlotte shouted angrily. “I won't lose my time with someone who doesn't...!”

“Oh, fuck you! You don't give a shit! All you care is my wallet!”

He took his things, and stormed to the door, closing it behind him with a 'bang'.

  
  



	5. Masham

**Chapter 5:**

The next few months were a bit rough on Strike. He was drunk frequently as he tried not to think of Charlotte, who had been seen, as the magazines showed, with her ex, the tosser of Jago Ross, a snob she had dated in Oxford and left for Strike, ten years prior. She wanted to hurt Strike and she knew little things would hurt more than going for no other than Ross, who Strike despised. He spent four months single and sleeping with one-night stands he easily got at pubs and friends' parties, and when August came, he and Charlotte were back together.

In the meantime, he knew Robin had called Ilsa and hired her, and he got updates, every now and then, that a guy by the surname of Trewin had been arrested and Robin had identified him as her attacker, so the trials had begun. On September, he was declared guilty for rape of three girls, one of them only fifteen, and one attempted murder, and he was condemned for life. Strike wasn't allowed to be in the trial, and wasn't able either because work was hard, but Ilsa informed him the trial had been terrible on Robin, since the defendant lawyer had repeatedly tried to make her look like a whore. He had phoned Robin several times to catch up and make sure she was fine, but she hadn't sounded very fine, nor they had had much to talk about, and often, she hadn't felt like talking either. He'd wanted to visit her, but she had said she was with her boyfriend and she hadn't left her bedroom, and it wasn't a good moment, and he understood her need for time and space. University had also apparently invited her to leave, so everything was rough, but she thanked him a billion times for more things than Strike thought necessary.

Then, Strike was off travelling for work around Germany, Belgium and France for eight months, and out there he heard very little about Robin, mostly from Ilsa, who still phoned her every now and then. He spent June in Cornwall with Charlotte, and when he came back to London, he was called to work in offices outside the big city but still in England, so he was busy for another few months. But Ilsa kept updating him, and he, who hadn't forgotten Robin and thought frequently of her, tried to have a call with her monthly at least, and email with some frequency, just so she knew he cared. Between one thing and the other, it's how he knew Robin hadn't left her room in the first three months after the attack, but she hadn't left her house until September of 2005.

Shortly after when Strike knew Robin had turned twenty-one (the year before he had sent her a bouquet of flowers and a card with the message ' _I hope you have a very happy birthday. It gets better, I promise. Sending you all the best wishes, Cormoran'_ ) Strike decided to pay her that long-delayed visit.

“I swear Cormoran, if you leave now-!” Charlotte shouted as he was carrying his suitcase to the front door.

“What? I'm only visiting a friend, Charlotte...”

“What do you care? She's a complete stranger! You should be here for me, we have Claudia's party-!”

“I hate Claudia and her parties!”

“You ought to come for me!”

Nothing Strike had tried to reason had made a difference. Charlotte wanted all his attention for herself, and Strike had pleaded with her that he was only visiting Robin, whose story she knew, and see how she was going as part of a follow-up. In the end, she had shouted at him to never come back, and he'd had to pack his things, furious at the woman but also half-begging and pleading for an hour, and then resigned to leave them at Nick and Ilsa's guest room before grabbing the train to Masham. He could, for sure, use some fresh air of the countryside. He knew Charlotte would beg him to come back; she always did.

The train trip this time wasn't too long next to Edinburgh, which Strike was thankful for. He had always liked trains, but even he got bored from being in one for hours and hours without end. It was still five hours, so he slept, ate and read, and when York station was close, he changed into jeans, a blue jumper, and shaved, trying to look nice so he wouldn't remind Robin of her rapist or anything. He was always very self-conscious, when meeting raped women, of his enormous bulk, and slightly predatory face.

He did the rest of the trip to the Bay Horse Hotel in Masham in a taxi, and once his things had been accommodated in his room, he asked the receptionist if by any chance they wouldn't know where the Ellacotts lived. Luckily, Michael was apparently a teacher at the primary school there, so everyone knew the family and he could find the house, a pretty two storey one covered in ivy, without much difficulty. It was four in the afternoon on a Saturday, but he hoped someone would be home. He rang the doorbell and heard a dog barking and then a manly voice.

“ _Rowntree_ , calm down man!” the door opened and Michael Ellacott appeared. He instantly smiled warmly when he saw who it was. “Cormoran! What a surprise! How are you?” he offered a hand to shake and Strike did so.

“Very well, I hope you don't mind I came uninvited. I wanted to surprise the birthday girl,” he said lifting a small package wrapped up in gift paper.

“Ah, that's so nice of you! Please, come in, you're always welcomed...”

“How's it going?” Strike asked as he entered a small hall and was instantly harassed by a big dark chocolate Labrador, who demanded ear-scratching. Strike used one of his big hands to pat his head fondly, and turned to look at Michael.

“All good, much better these days,” Michael nodded. Then, lowering his voice, he whispered: “Robin's leaving the house these days.”

“That's great,” Strike looked satisfied.

“Please, this way. We're just bidding farewell to her boyfriend Matthew, came for the weekend from Bath University to visit,” said Michael, opening a double door to a cosy sitting room where three people stood chatting. Robin was just adjusting the scarf around the neck of a tall, handsome brunette man with hazel eyes and a very symmetrical face that contrasted with Strike's, whose nose had been left a bit crooked after doing boxing for years, greatly.

“Cormoran, what a wonderful surprise,” the surprise was his, when Linda hugged him tightly. “You look so skinny! I hope you like chicken, because I'm cooking a big one for dinner.” She grinned at him happily.

“Oh, thank you so much Linda, that'd be lovely,” Strike managed a smile as well and looked at Robin, who looked surprised but happy to see him, healthy now and beautiful, with her two blue-grey eyes looking nice, her long, wavy honey hair, and her neck no longer bruised.

Strike was surprised she was so beautiful, since he didn't remember her so pretty, and had to remind himself he was a decade older and had a much more stunning girlfriend ('cause Charlotte would be back, no doubt). Her boyfriend, however, didn't look so happy to see him, although he was quick to keep a neutral expression.

“Cormoran, hi,” Robin smiled sweetly at him.

“Hi,” Strike smiled back. “Doing better I heard?”

“Oh, yeah, baby steps they say, don't they?” Robin nodded. “Oh, Matt, sweetie, this is Sergeant Strike, the man I told you about.”

“Yeah, I've heard... well, so nice to meet you. We ought to be grateful,” Matthew managed a polite smile and shook Strike's hand.

“Just doing my job. Rugby?” Strike added pointing to the tall man's eyebrow, that had a bit of a bruise. Strike recognized the kind of bruise.

“Yeah,” Matthew's smile was honest and smug now. Strike knew in a split of a second he was the man you kept happy with compliments. “Had a game last Friday. So what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I was in London and free, and I know Robin's birthday just passed so I just wanted to... yeah...” Strike gave Robin the package. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you!” Robin chuckled. “You didn't have to bother...”

“Bah, it's just biscuits, nothing big... my aunt makes them, they're pretty good,” Strike explained shyly. “And I was feeling bit sick of the city, so I figured it'd be nice. Twenty-one, isn't it?” Robin nodded, chuckling. “Well, I give you my condolences then. Adulthood sucks,” he joked with a wink, and Robin and Linda giggled.

“Yeah well, can't get much worse uh?” Robin commented. “We were just saying goodbye to Matthew. He's going back to Uni and should get going to the airport. You'll call me when you land, right?” she added looking at Matthew, her hand drifting to his back.

“Sure thing. Well, have a nice time, Cormoran.”

“Same...”

Robin walked Matthew outside after her parents hugged him, and after a few minutes in which _Rowntree_ licked Strike's trousers while he patted his head and Linda took the package of biscuits and put them on a plate on the coffee table, she reappeared.

“So, Cormoran, where are you staying?” Robin asked.

“The Bay Horse.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Linda declared. “You can stay here, our eldest, Stephen, is in University as well, and his bedroom is free. He's not visiting until Christmas, poor thing is so busy.” Robin bit her lip at the mention of university, and Strike contemplated the possibility of staying here. It would save her the over seventy pounds a night.

“You know what? That'd be nice, if it's really no bother,” said Strike.

“Absolutely, how long are you staying?” asked Michael. “At least a few days, right? So we can show you around?”

“Sure,” Strike nodded. “I hadn't really thought of a time limit, so I guess a week or so would be fine, the army's giving me some weeks as a break after some big trips.”

“Good!” Linda was very satisfied. “Then it's all sorted-out!”

  
  


  
  



	6. A very nice person

**Chapter 6:**

Michael fetched his bottle of Scottish Whiskey, that Robin had brought home the last Christmas holiday she had come from Edinburgh and they had saved for special occasions, and poured three glasses as they sat on the sofa eating the biscuits, that quickly got a ton of compliments, while he commented that their younger son, Martin, was with his friends at the pub and the youngest, Jonathan, was studying at a friend's. He had class next day, at the High School in Bedale, up north.

“Good thing there's a school bus that picks the kids up,” Michael commented. “Otherwise it'd be trouble! No children, Cormoran? You look like you've got a good age for them.”

“Oh, I'm thirty-one next month,” Strike clarified, knowing he could look older than he was. “No, not really a good time. My girlfriend and I spend long times separated with work, and I'm not leaving the army just yet.” He wasn't about to tell two proud parents of four that he didn't really want children, and neither did his girlfriend.

“How's Ilsa?” asked Robin then. “She was so good to me, such a hard-working, good woman.”

“She's all right, yeah. I do ask her often about you if I'm honest,” said Strike. “She's always been smart, I've known her my whole life. She's actually married to my best friend from middle school, so I see her often and she's been updating me on things with the trial and all. Cheers by the way, getting him life with those top class observation skills. I've never seen such a reliable witness, and I interview one pretty much monthly.”

“Oh, well,” Robin shrugged, blushing a little. “I don't know... But it's great she's okay... I kinda like her. I've actually continued my studies, moved to Open University so I can do it from home.”

“Good, that's nice.”

“What did you study, Cormoran?” asked Linda then.

“I never finished university,” said Strike. “Started Social Anthropology, but dropped-out during my second year for the army.”

“And haven't you thought of continuing it while working?” Michael inquired then, curious.

“No,” Strike shrugged. “I love learning, but I'm more the independent kind, just reading all books I get and those things... And I won't need a degree. I'm planning to become a Private Detective in a few years, when my contract with the army ends. The army background should be enough to get clients.”

“See?” Robin told her Dad, then looked at Strike. “My Dad's obsessed that all of us get a degree, 'cause he's a teacher.”

“Martin won't, though,” Linda lamented. “The minute he finished high school he said he'd never study again.” Strike snorted a laugh.

“And what's he doing now?” Strike asked then.

“Playing his guitar in Masham square pretty much daily,” Robin rolled eyes. “Hoping to be a musician. Hopefully he'll realize he's got to do a bit more for that.”

“Actually,” Strike looked thoughtful. “I was brought-up in quite the musical environment, I know a lot of artists and bands. I could spread his CV around.”

“He would love that, would you really be so kind?” Linda grinned hopeful and Strike nodded.

“Surely. He just has to show he's got some abilities on the CV, you know, can play guitar or something, and I can probably help him find something.”

“He's a great guitarist for sure,” Robin nodded, munching one of the biscuits and humming in approval, while trying to keep _Rowntree_ at bay from them. “So, Cormoran, want to go fetch your things? I'll go with you and help... Stephen's room is ready, he always leaves it spotless.”

“Okay, yeah.”

Robin fetched her coat and Strike walked by her side as they spoke about music they liked, Robin commented she had been listening to a lot of Nickelback since he sang it to her, which she remembered, and Strike praised her tastes, and recommended her some others like Elbow or Tom Waits. By the time they reached the hotel, they were enjoying their mutual company and common tastes, and for once Robin found herself able to talk her mind, and not be told, like Matthew would often do, that her musical tastes were rubbish. They spoke about literature as well, and she told him about some books she had been reading. It was weird, because she was used to being around people that either thought they knew better than her, or didn't really make her feel what she said was too interesting, but Strike seemed eager to listen to her and hear her opinions on everything.

When they arrived back at the house, Linda and Michael were busy in the kitchen and Robin guided Strike upstairs, to Stephen's bedroom. She explained he studied Literature, hence the enormous amount of books in the bedroom, that impressed Strike. He was welcomed to read them, of course, as long as he'd care for them and leave them where he found them, so Stephen didn't get angry when he came back. Robin put together a portable cloth closet they had for guests, and all was ready. Then she stood a bit awkward in front of him, in the room.

“I've got a confession to make, Cormoran.”

“Do you?” Strike looked at her, amused with her sudden embarrassment.

“I did some research,” she said. “I'm sorry, I'm just so curious... so well... I know who you are. Haven't told anyone though.”

“That's fine. So who am I?”

She shrugged vaguely, shy.

“You're Jonny Rokeby and Leda Strike's son. I also read that...” she shifted her weight, looking everywhere but at him. “That your Mum and little brother were murdered. I read he was only two.”

Strike nodded slowly, sitting on the feet of the bed.

“So now you know why I'm specially sensitive to bastard men mistreating women,” said Strike. Robin nodded. “It's okay, Robin. I would've told you.” He patted the space next to him on the bed and Robin walked over and sat by his side.

“Why did he do it?” Robin asked in a whisper.

“Money,” Strike replied. “He thought my mother swam in it, because he thought my Dad and my sister's Dad, musician Rick Fantoni, paid enormous amounts of money for our care, but they didn't, and she mismanaged it a lot. So... he married her, figured that way he'd have some access... and killed her to inherit. My brother was an inconvenience for him, so he was killed as well.”

“And your sister? Lucy, wasn't she?” Robin remembered Strike talking about her when he found Robin over a year before. She remembered that day as if it had only been minutes ago. “Is she alive?”

“Thankfully,” Strike nodded. “She's recently turned twenty-nine, she's married, has a good job, two baby sons. She's happy. Back then, she was living with our uncle and aunt in Cornwall, because she was afraid of our mother's husband and murderer. She moved there at fourteen, and our uncle and aunt served as our surrogate parents when...” Robin nodded, understanding. Strike cleared his throat and looked around the room. “She's safe.”

“I'm sorry. It was a terrible thing to happen.”

“Yeah..” Strike looked at her, noticing the dark bags under her eyes. “It's good that you know, so we have some sort of balance. It was unbalanced for you to not know anything while... I know nights suck. Are you doing therapy?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “Doesn't seem like anyone understands much though. I should warn you, since you're going to sleep here... I...”

“Shout? Scream bloody murder? Sleep-walk?” Strike smiled gently at her. “It's fine, Robin. I've seen it all. Let me tell you something, Robin,” he turned to face her better, and his dark eyes allowed themselves to swim in her ocean ones for a moment. “My sister was eighteen when she buried her mother and brother. It's not an easy thing, but it does get better, all right? And whatever shit you feel... it's important that you fix in your mind that it's a temporary thing. Don't let it take over and become all you are.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Yeah.”

“Not sleeping,” she said. “Being surrounded by people telling you what to do, to get out of your room, your house, live a little... even Matt, I love him, but he can't possibly get it... and it gets so lonely, Corm. I have no one to talk to that has lived what I have. No one I know gets up in the middle of the night gasping for air with her hands around her neck,” she murmured. “No one I know has lost her virginity to...” she bit her lip. “I used to be a completely different person. Now I pass my own stairwell running, avoid all dark places, look everywhere like a freaking owl when I go out, in permanent state of anxiety, and sleep with a night light. At 21.”

“I sucked my thumb until I was twelve,” Strike commented nonchalantly. Robin looked at him surprised. “My point is, Robin,” he said with half a smirk. “We all have our own timing and it's all just temporary. Now, this is hard. Now, surviving the day is a great accomplishment. But it doesn't have to be that way forever. You've proven to be incredibly tough, and people like you become unstoppable after things like this. Actually, I've got something that might help you.” Strike fumbled with a hand inside his pocket, and pulled out a small notepad. He passed pages of it, ripped one, and handed it to Robin. It was a York address, and a phone number. “It's a support group for rape victims. They meet every Saturday morning. A friend recommended it.”

Robin took the paper between her hands and read it several times. She felt a wave of affection and gratefulness towards Strike, and for a moment she didn't know what to say. It was hard to understand why he was helping her so much, from day one. They hardly knew each other, and Robin knew if he hadn't been a soldier, she wouldn't have let him in so much. His profession, however, made him automatically trustworthy and reliable to her eyes.

“Are you like this with all the rape victims you meet?” she asked, trying not to sound accusatory. He was nevertheless surprised, and shook his head.

“But you're the very first I know, that wasn't in one of my investigations.”

“Is that why you're so kind to me?”

“Don't know,” Strike pursed his lips. “I guess... somehow, you remind me of my sister back then. And uh...” Strike shrugged, nervous. “I haven't been able to take that night off my mind. I remember you, and holding you when you fainted... and the way you didn't want me to leave you... when you remember things like that so vividly, somehow you always feel the need to make sure that person is all right. Or perhaps it's just the guilt of knowing I wasn't fast enough to make sure he wouldn't touch you. I don't know. Is it creepy now?”

Robin curved her lips into a soft smile and shook her head.

“You're a very kind man.”

“You're a very nice person.”

They eyed each other meaningfully, and suddenly Linda called for them downstairs.

The days in Masham passed in a blur. Strike found himself relaxed and happy, playing the guitar with Robin's young brother Martin, going for drinks to the Bay Horse pub, going to Robin's uncle's farm, where they'd take the horses and sometimes Robin would guide him riding somewhere nice, as he was educated in the art of riding a horse. Two weeks, and they were absolutely fantastic, bonding until Strike could define Robin as a good friend, and found her company refreshing and great. After all, she was so kind, so funny, so warm, it just made him feel like coming into a chimney-warmed sitting-room in the midst of a snowy January night.

At the same time, she seemed to feel better those days, in which she also started going to the meetings in York with the support group, and she'd often talk about how therapy had gone with Strike at the end of the day, walking around the countryside while he smoke and let her talk, listening to her patiently and in no rush to talk himself. Robin knew she would miss him greatly.

“What will you do when you're back in London?” Robin asked on the last afternoon Strike would spend in Masham, as they both sat on horses at the top of a hill, contemplating the horizon as the sun went to sleep behind the hills. She had been trying to ignore the pang of sadness she got in her chest every time she thought of Strike leaving. She had her friends in Masham, but everyone was gone in University and relationships were cooling.

“Attempt a reconciliation with my girlfriend,” Strike said. She knew what had happened, after Charlotte had been calling him like crazy the last few days. “And go back to work. South Africa for two months, I'll be back by Christmas.”

“You'll miss your birthday?”

“It happens. Will you email me?”

“Daily,” they exchanged a smile.

“I'll pay you a visit to London any time you want.”

“When you're back from South Africa, if you call.”

“I will...”

“You better.”

They giggled at the chastising tone, seeming like mother and son for a moment.

“These few days...” Robin nodded. “I need it. Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” Strike looked at the sky in awe. “This place is absolutely amazing. I needed it.”

“Take many pictures in Africa from me, will you?”

“Surely. And you about anything you'd like.”

The next day, Robin had driven him to the train station in York, exhibiting her incredible driving skills, that truly surprised Strike, and amazed him. As they stood in the station, Robin looked at Strike sadly.

“Well, this is it,” she said, seeing as his train arrived to pick him up. “Thank you for everything. Come any time.”

“You too,” Strike looked down at her, and nodded. “It was a great trip. Thank you.” Robin snorted.

“We're always just thanking each other, aren't we?” Strike chuckled.

“We could hug?”

“Yeah,” Robin smiled. “I'd like that.”

Compliant, Strike dropped his bag and leaned to wrap his arms around her. She hugged him tightly, feeling like she was hugging a mountain. He was just so enormous, and she felt so small. Strike, on the other hand, was happy to notice she was just tall enough for him to not be uncomfortable, and he was marvelled by how nicely they seemed to fit against each other's body. Her perfume filled his nostrils and he wondered how would he proceed without it, and knew he'd miss her. There was something about her that always came naturally familiar to him... and it was weird to think of being so far from her again. Enjoying the hug more than, he knew, Charlotte or Matthew would've approved, he eventually pulled apart and managed a smile.

“So I will see you soon?”

“You will. Have a good trip back,” Robin affirmed.

“You too.” With a last smile, Strike climbed into his train, and they waved at each other through a window, until they disappeared from each other's sights.

  
  



	7. An old friend in need

**Chapter 7:**

_May, 2007._

The three years since Robin had been assaulted had been, without a doubt, the hardest of her life. Her long-time boyfriend, Matthew Cunliffe, had now graduated University and was studying a Masters Degree in Bath, where he had studied before. In the meantime, Strike and Robin had become the best of friends, and now that he was in Afghanistan, she missed him terribly. She was trying to figure her life out. Her PTSD symptoms had lowered and now they only appeared in times of profound stress, her therapy and her group therapy were going just fine, and although she still got nervous when she walked on her own around the streets, and looked everywhere in the style of an owl, she felt better. Strike and Matthew had, to her, been enormous helpers.

These days, it was common for her and Strike to discuss PTSD and life in general via email and phone-calls. He was a natural listener, and gave her something no one else in her life did; listening without judgement, until her tongue hurt from talking, without a single interruption, without just waiting for his turn, but actually doing active listening with care. It didn't matter how crazy her words sounded. He understood and helped her understand herself.

So he had recommended her a self-defence course in which she had been trained by a veteran woman friends of Strike, and had had a lot of fun and now, had made her feel more secure on her own, safer, and then she had asked him if he thought she could perhaps do a course of advanced military driving, and he had encouraged her to do it, and had come up, on their next phone-call, with numbers she could call to, that he had gotten asking around his mates. So that had also happened, and slowly but steadily, Robin occupied herself with life. She finished her Open University degree in Psychology, she had read half the books on Stephen's bedroom, and she was catching up with old friends and going out more often. To Strike, she sounded better every time they spoke.

As the heat of the summer approached, Robin had received a call from Lucy Radcliffe (née Fantoni), that had put her in a train going to London. The trip was well-known; she had often been invited to spend some days at Strike's, even more when he had been living with his girlfriend of a few months prior, Tracey, a fellow SIB who truly liked Robin and made Strike feel it was okay to have her around, which hadn't happened when he had dated Charlotte (a relationship that, to every one of Strike's friends delight, had ended about a year previously). She also knew and had a good relationship with Strike's two-year younger sister Lucy, with whom she had dinned many times, and with her sons, and Ilsa and Nick Herbert, Strike's long-time best friends and now also Robin's.

However, this visit had nothing to do with any of that. Lucy had called her informing that Strike was in the hospital after suffering an IED in Afghanistan. She had said not to worry because she was with him and he was okay, just suffering bit of PTSD and the flaws of a severe concussion, but Robin really didn't have much to do in Masham and had decided she ought to be there as soon as she could.

Which turned-out to be the afternoon.

“Bugger,” Robin cursed between her teeth as she rushed into the hospital. “Fuckin' London with its fuckin' expensive hotels and fuckin' expensive taxis, who do they think I am, damn Prince Harry?” Robin kept ranting to herself, muttering insults as she found a lift and checked Lucy's instructions on her phone, to find Strike's room. She had taken so long to arrive (Strike had actually been admitted almost 48h previously) that he already had his own room. “They might as well just bugger off and let me visit my friend...” she added to herself, rushing through the large corridor with a small wrapped-up present.

Her heart drummed with anxiety in her chest, and her eyes, with soft dark bags underneath, scanned every sign on the doors, looking for the right one. Once she reached it, she had to give herself a moment to breathe, her hand suspended in front of the door for a split second, before she knocked.

“Come in!” Ilsa's voice called from inside. Robin gripped the door handle with excessive force, and opened the door, entering a cream-painted room in which there weren't many machines, and instead there were just a dresser, a sofa, an armchair, a few more chairs, and a bed, bent upwards, so that the man who rested on it looked almost sitting-up, leaning against many pillows.

Strike looked a bit ashen, but smiled warmly at her nevertheless. He had a thick bandage around his head, and a few cuts and bruises, but he was otherwise fine, as far as Robin could see, which made her let out a breath of relaxation. The presence of Lucy, Nick, Ilsa, and a man she didn't know, looking very relaxed, only confirmed for her that everything was fine. If it wasn't, she knew they'd look way more worried.

Greetings were exchanged and the mysterious man was introduced as Dave Polworth, Strike's oldest friend, who was an engineer in Bristol but had hurried to London just that morning to check on his own oldest friend. He did know who Robin was, as apparently, he had heard 'so much' about her, and he offered her a chair.

“Thanks,” Robin sat down and looked anxiously at Strike. “So how are you feeling?”

“I'd be better if I had my usual hello hug,” said Strike with half a smirk. Robin rolled eyes but smiled, getting up and leaning to hug him. She felt herself relax even more with the hug, as his big body felt firm and strong beneath her arms. “I'm fine, just a bit dizzy.” He added without giving it much importance, as she sat back down again.

“So you'll be released soon and back in uniform, right?” she observed he was wearing pyjamas.

“Yes and no,” Strike replied. “I won't be going back to the army, Robin.”

“How so?” she was very surprised, knowing how much he liked it there.

“It's been twelve years, I took this as my wake-up call and decided it was enough. The idea had been in my mind for quite the time anyway, being honest,” Strike explained.

“So back to London?”

“Yeah. Charlotte and I got back together just this morning,” Robin did a conscious effort to keep her expression neutral, but noticed the others didn't look happy, although not surprised either, so they already knew, “so I'll just move in with her. Not my favourite option, but thirteen years together, you know? Can't say no without risking her leaving again. I'll get used to it, I'm just used to being solo.” He shrugged, seemingly unconcerned, and actually quite content. “Speaking of partners, how's Matthew doing?”

Robin knew, because Strike was good with poker faces, but she was also an excellent psychology graduate trained to notice those things, that he disliked her boyfriend, and she also knew the dislike was mutual, but considering her own opinion of his girlfriend, she didn't feel entitled to resent him. So therefore, she pretended not to notice and simply made a briefing of Matthew's master in Bath and his dreams of coming to live in London and become an accountant. He had actually mentioned Robin came with him.

“That's be nice, we'd get to see you all the time,” Ilsa commented happily.

“Woah, girls' night every week!” Lucy suggested excitedly. Robin chuckled.

“Yeah, well,” she shrugged. “I don't really have a reason to say no, so why not.”

“Robin's got a psychology degree,” Strike told Dave, then looked at her. “Are you going to become a psychologist here now?”

“No,” Robin replied straight-away. “I'm actually unsure about what to do... I mean, I'm only twenty-two-,”

“Ah, baby!” Nick joked, making them snigger.

“Well yeah, comparing,” Robin smiled looking at the ten-year older group. “The world's at my feet, according to my parents. So I'd like to live a little, not just go back to studying and get a job and a house and have life become boring. I love psychology, but I don't think is where I want to work.” Strike smirked, satisfied.

“You're a good rider,” he pointed out.

“Horse academy in London,” Dave offered. “You could train the Buckingham's horses!”

They indulged into a childish succession of funny but ridiculous working possibilities, each more inventive than the last, until they were all cracking-up and with tearful eyes from laughing. With the shadow of a smile still on her face, Robin ventured.

“Actually... there is something I've always wanted to do...”

“Oh, what is it? Is it dirty?” Nick teased jokingly, making her snort a laugh and shake her head.

“No. I've always wanted to work for the police, as a forensic psychologist or anyway I could help,” Robin shrugged. “But I've never really told anyone. Everyone at home will say someone who's been assaulted shouldn't get into those things.”

“I think someone who's been assaulted has all the more reason to work at those things,” Dave opined.

“Yeah,” Nick nodded. “Happens in the hospital all the time. All my oncologist friends are oncologists because someone they loved had cancer.”

“And most of the soldiers I know had family who were soldiers, many of which died in conflict,” Strike added.

“Pain makes you more involved with a cause,” Ilsa commented philosophically. “The best cops are the ones who care the most, because they know what being on the other side is like.”

That night, Robin was offered Nick and Ilsa's guest room, and when she went to bed, she felt a great warmth in her chest, not just because she adored spending time with Strike and his peers, but also because for once, she felt entitled to pursue her dream, validated, and like she actually had all the reasons in the world to not settle and go for it. With a smile on her face from thinking of seeing Strike so often when she came to London and he worked here, she closed her eyes and soon, drifted off to sleep.

  
  



	8. Broken mug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year ;)

**Chapter 8:**

_June, 2008._

Strike and Robin left the gymnasium with content smiles and damp hair from the shower they had just taken, both wearing sports clothes and carrying a holdall each. Strike's lip had a small cut and was a bit swollen, but he didn't seem to mind. However, Robin stopped at the first red light they encountered, and put her hand grabbing his chin softly and examining the cut with narrowed eyes full of worry.

“Are you sure it's fine? I'm so sorry...”

“Robin, it's all right. This is exactly how you ought to punch an assaulter,” there was a moment in which their eyes locked, and the distance seemed too close, and they both stared at the other's lips for a second, blushed and pulled away.

“You're too nice,” Robin pointed out as they walked again.

Robin had been coming to London quite often, still not living there, as Matthew and she couldn't afford it yet. She was working as an assistant counsellor at Masham's school, and Matthew was part-time working in a pub and part-time studying more, because otherwise he'd never work as an accountant. Robin was, behind her family's and Matthew's backs, studying an Open University course on Criminology, and she came to London, or Strike to Masham, as often as possible, and every time they'd train on self-defence. Strike had just rented an office in London and was finishing the paperwork to open a private detectives agency, and Robin had been, for some reason, the first person he had wanted to show it to.

“So have you bought Charlotte a ring yet?” Robin asked. Strike and Charlotte had recently become engaged, as much as nobody liked it, but since he was more like Robin's oldest brother or second favourite uncle, she, again, didn't feel entitled to be anything but supportive.

“No money, with opening the agency... but she says she doesn't mind. Do you think it's true, she doesn't mind?” Strike asked her as they walked under the unusually blasting sun. They had by then achieved such a degree of deep friendship, such a brother-sister relationship (without the disadvantages that their actual siblings had, and the advantages of their best friends), that they now talked about all of those things with normalcy.

“Do you ask me as a psychology graduate or as a woman?” Robin said with a smirk, amused. Strike snorted a laugh and his eyes shined looking at her. He genuinely missed her when she wasn't around, and adored her teasing.

“Both,” Strike replied.

“Then I think he's expecting a huge diamond the size of my head, but she knows she's marrying a commoner, so she's training herself not to expect such things,” Robin joked raising her eyebrows, and Strike laughed out-loud.

“Do you?” Strike asked once he was done laughing.

“Do I what?”

“Expect a huge diamond from Matthew?”

Robin looked at him for a moment as if he had said something utterly stupid. Matthew and her had been together for about seven years, it was certainly a long relationship, her high-school sweetheart, and she was happily in-love. However, for some reason she hadn't imagined herself and Matthew married since before she had been assaulted, which had been now four years previously. So she shook her head.

“We're still very young, I don't expect anything. We'll see...” then, she felt curious enough to ask, with a hint of innocence, so he wouldn't think the question had second-intentions, what had made him choose Charlotte, how did he know she was the one.

“Oh, God knows,” he replied then, shrugging. He was a head taller than Robin and broad, now he wore a stubbly short beard and his short curls were unruly and rebellious, absorbing the sunlight in its darkness. His cheeks, freckled from the African south after so many trips there, shined bronze with the sun, and Robin thought he had some attractiveness. “We've been together for the longest time and actually, I feel she just gets me, you know? And she makes me laugh and shares my adventure, daring soul, she's unapologetic, sarcastic, funny, sexy and crazy good in bed.” He winked at her, and Robin wasn't sure how much of it was just joking and fooling around.

“Is that a factor?” Robin asked as they entered Denmark Street. Nowadays they often wound-up at his office, and Robin would help him decorate and think where to put each furniture as they sat on the floor eating take-out. It was expected they'd leave the holdalls upstairs and adventure to a pub for lunch before heading back up and put together some furniture. “Sex? Do men consider how good a woman is for that?”

“Uh,” Strike didn't seem comfortable with the question, and he frowned lightly. She really sounded like his sister in her younger years at times. “You know men do talk those things, Robin. Some care more than others... for me, honestly, it's not a big deal. But if Charlotte was shit in bed, or didn't like it, I'd want to find a solution, or try to help her enjoy it. Some men are only in for the sex, because they're sixteen-year-old boys in the body of grown-up men, and some men are too gentlemen to make it a big deal, when it's not.”

Robin walked thoughtful by his side, keeping silence for a few moments. Strike was a man of silences and with whom one could easily be in silence, without feeling any pressure to fill it, and comprehending all that a silence could communicate. It didn't make Strike uncomfortable and, as he jogged upstairs, he hummed some of his old-school music, which he often recommended to Robin, and which she liked a lot. Music for them marked two different eras; Strike was all The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Animals, The Who, Led Zeppelin, Bob Dylan, Pink Floyd, Elton John, Sex Pistols, Police, The Pretenders, The Cure, Elbow, Tom Waits, jazz and all the independents Robin knew nothing of, plus a bunch of international ones. On the other hand, Robin was more of Oasis, more The Beatles, Take That, Westlife, Adele, Amy Winehouse, Keane, Coldplay, James Morrison, Amy Macdonald, Backstreet Boys, James Blunt, Natasha Bedingfield, Beyoncé, Christina Perri or Nirvana. Together, they kept Nickelback in a special place for them. Robin always enjoyed to hear Strike hum songs, and thought, secretly, that he had a beautiful deep voice. Being raised amongst musicians, she supposed being on pitch came naturally. Even his baby cries were probably harmonic.

“Coming to St. Mawes on August?” Strike's voice took her out of her thoughts as he opened the office door.

“Oh,” Robin blinked herself into attention. “Yes, sure. Thanks.”

She flopped on the second-hand sofa and Strike put in the kettle on the stove.

“Cormoran,” Robin said suddenly, staring at her knees, deep in thought. Strike raised an eyebrow, looking at her. He liked that she was the only person to call him by his full name. It sounded like a nice name in her lips. “Have I ever told you I lost my virginity to Trewin?”

Strike had to blink several times, surprised, and then flopped on the desk chair nearby, looking like he had just been punched on the face.

“No,” he murmured. “No, you haven't.” Robin nodded, and let a long sigh out, that made Strike's chest uneasy.

“I only acceded to sex with Matthew about a couple years after,” said Robin. Strike observed her attentive and cautious, because he knew her well enough after four years, to know she was going somewhere that was important, at least for her, and henceforth, for Strike as well. “But to this day... it's not easy. It's not something I yearn for, you know? It's more like something we're supposed to do... but I never seem to enjoy it as much as he does, or the girlfriends of mine. It's not like it bothers me... not usually... but I don't look forward to it, ever, so we don't do it often. I can tell Matthew isn't happy about it but... he wouldn't leave me for that, right?” she looked at him with such honest concern, his stomach twitched. “I mean... we love each other. He wouldn't leave me for someone who likes it better and does it better, wouldn't he?” Her anguished expression moved Strike to sit by her side, thoughtful.

“Love goes beyond sex, Robin,” Strike said, not knowing much what to say. “If he truly loves you, he'll be faithful and understanding, and he'll stay, because you're way more than a vagina and any man with a minimum of a brain can see that,” he smiled at her, and she snorted a laugh. “Besides, perhaps you're not wondering the right questions. Shouldn't you be asking yourself whether _you_ should be with him?”

She looked at him with great surprise and then frowned.

“What?”

“I mean,” Strike bit his lip, afraid he might have fucked up. “Robin, you're looking at yourself as if you're a broken mug one needs to fix, and you're not. You went through a terrible thing, it left logical consequences in you, and those aren't a thing you need to fix for anyone but yourself. So what if you dislike sex? Shouldn't he, if he loves you, accept that and not pressure, not make you feel like you need to do it? If you don't love it, I don't see the point on doing it, honestly. I wouldn't.”

“He's just trying for me to get over it, and enjoy it as much as he does. Perhaps in a few more times...”

“Think it that way if it helps you,” Strike sighed. “But Robin, all I know is that no one who loves me has ever forced me into a vehicle, knowing since the explosion they give me PTSD, nor suggested we visited the house where my mother and brother were killed. I'm not saying he's got bad intentions, I'm sure he only means well... but I can only say I, with my age and my experience, if I dated you, sex wouldn't even cross my mind unless you were the one suggesting it, as much as I know if the situation was reversed, you would do the same.”

The conversation left Robin a bit resentful towards Strike, because, who did he think he was, she thought, to make her question her relationship with the man she loved? And what was more, he loved her, of course their relationship wasn't just sex. She was sure if she completely refused sex one night, Matthew wouldn't fight it nor push her. He was just doing what he thought was right, and who was to say it wasn't? Strike couldn't possibly understand.

  
  



	9. International love

**Chapter 9:**

_November 23 rd, 2012._

When 'Strike Private Investigations' had launched, Robin was still unable to live in London, and still studying her Criminology degree, so Strike had to carry on his own, building a business. The first were hard months, but slowly and steadily he got more and more clients, with Robin's continuous support from Masham and, since they still holidayed together more often than not, missing each other as they did, they used those opportunities to talk about their mutual passions; investigation and criminology, between others, but those were definitely at the top. Robin was always eager to listen to his countless stories about work, and he was always eager to listen to everything she was learning. He had never studied criminology, so there were some things he didn't know, and he'd frequently ask her to do a psychological profiling, or talk psychology with her in relationship to work.

Years passed as their friendship grew stronger and tighter. Robin's marriage and divorce, Strike and Charlotte's break-up after she had lied to him about a baby -Robin wouldn't forget how Strike had appeared in Masham, broken and drunk, and cried on her arms for an hour, for what she suspected was not entirely the break-up or the fact that she had lied about a pregnancy, but for an accumulation of feelings of betrayal, of happiness being ripped from him constantly, of loneliness and loss- and their cases working together in what had become 'Strike & Ellacott Investigations', catching criminals such as John Bristow, Elizabeth Tassel, Donald Laing, Neil Brockbank, or Raphael Chiswell, who had only recently been arrested, after holding Robin hostage at gun-point.

Their relationship had evolved so much that now they weren't only the best of friends and colleagues, but it was on the verge of something else. There was a force, like the one between two magnets, that they could feel attracting them to the other, but that they both refused to be dominated by, so they moved in the threshold of a romance, carefully walking over the edge of the cliff, but both secretly full of adrenaline and some desire to take the step, but too afraid of the consequences if they crashed on the ground, instead of having a successful take-off.

Strike was enjoying a period of being single, since ending it with his latest girlfriend, Lorelei. He was also hitting the gym as often as he could, and trying to quit smoking, getting thinner and fitter. Robin had enjoyed a brief relationship with Nick's younger brother Spanner, for about a month, after signing her divorce. Now, they both stood side-by-side, both with a small bottle of beer in their dominant hand, both staring at the stars, standing on Nick and Ilsa's backyard. It was Strike's thirty-eight birthday, and the next day, both Robin and Strike would take a plane to Afghanistan.

“You're very quiet tonight,” Strike murmured, as if afraid his voice would be too much of a disruption in the darkness and silence of the night. Their friends and part of his family were animatedly dancing and chatting inside.

“Just tired. We've been celebrating you for seven hours,” Robin smiled softly, nudging him with her elbow.

“Here I was thinking you were getting nervous about Afghanistan,” Strike smirked at her.

“Not at all,” she shrugged. “We're just doing Hardy a favour.”

“You know you don't have to go.”

“Strike & Ellacott, Cormoran. I'm not leaving you alone with such mess and besides, you're used to working with your partner, otherwise it'd be weird. The sooner we resolve it, the sooner we're both home,” Robin pointed out.

A few weeks before, Hardy had commented with Strike how the SIB was stuck with an abnormality in one of their military camps in Afghanistan. Apparently, some Afghan children were being kidnapped, and the SIB suspected British Army could be after it, which would be such a scandal everything was being investigated very secretly. But they were stuck and the situation was urgent and a headache, and they needed to return those children to their mourning families, and it was such an exceptional, emergency situation, that Hardy's boss had pleaded with him to convince Strike to come and help as a civilian adviser or something. Then, Robin had firmly said that either they both went or none of them, because there was no way in hell she was letting him go risk his butt in Afghanistan without her. 'We're partners' she had reminded her 'what about our motto that we have each other's backs, always?' so between grilled teeth, Strike had agreed, and the SIB had had to accept it, anything so Strike would come. Of course they'd be protected and of course, they wouldn't be exposed into conflicted areas. It was supposed to be a safe trip, not longer than a couple months. In the meantime, their employees Sam, Andy, and Ruth (an ex SIB who had worked under Strike's orders for years and had a close relationship with him) would keep their agency standing, and Strike and Robin would take turns to fly back to London one weekend every two weeks, if they were outside so long, to make sure their own business was under control.

“Still... I would see it normal for you to be nervous... or scared.”

“Why would I be?” Robin shrugged. “I'll be with you. I've always been safe with you.”

Strike looked at her in awe, and smiled big, putting an arm around her shoulders. She smiled back, tipsy, and saw his eyes crinkle.

“I'm glad you feel like that. I know I'm a grumpy bastard, Robin... but I'm grateful you'll be coming.”

Robin was about to say something, but the door opened and a pregnant Ilsa shouted at them to come back because it was freezing outside and they were going to start playing Twister, and wouldn't be as funny without them. They all knew Strike and Robin were leaving, but knowing they'd be protected as civilians, and that they'd have each other, no one was particularly worried.

The Twister game was fun and full of laughter, falls, and ridiculousness. Every time Robin was too elastic, Strike would try not to stare, and they'd joke she was just younger, and every time a part of Strike brushed her, they'd both try not to blush and to keep their breathings steady.

Eventually they both were on their way home. Robin was staying in Earl's Court with her new flatmate, Ilsa and Nick's old friend Estella, who was a gay actress and with whom Robin had been living for a couple months, happily, and considering Estella quite a great person. She had come to the party, but had gone home earlier, and Robin was driving Strike back to 25 Golden Square, where their office and his flat had relocated after being evicted from Denmark Street, due to a developer buying the building. Sony Records had left the building in Golden Square for a bigger one, and the building had been transformed into flats and offices, and now Strike had, once again, a flat over his office, but a very nice flat this time, and an exceptionally nice office. Perks of earning good chunks of money now that the agency was very successful. The Army would also pay very generously for the trip to Afghanistan.

“So...” Strike said as he unbuckled his seatbelt, once Robin parked near his flat. “Wanna come up? I've got a spare room, wine, and those muffins you like. I was thinking we could have one last film night before the trip.”

“We won't have those in a while,” Robin pursed her lips and smiled. “Okay!”

As they stood in the lift, Robin felt truly drunk, and Strike knew he was certainly drunk. He couldn't stop staring at Robin, because she was so damn gorgeous, so beautiful, with her strawberry-blonde hair recently cut short over the shoulders, full of waves, and her lips so red and thick, her cheeky face full of freckles... and he could see her eyes darken looking at him, the ever so slightly movement to his lips...

And suddenly they were kissing. It started as a sweet kiss, arms around each other, and then heated with the built-up of eight years, fumbling out of the lift and into his flat while keeping their bodies entangled and their mouths crashing together with abandon time after time. Clothes flew before they could prevent it, and for the first time in her life, Robin found herself loving sex. Or should she say love-making?

The morning saw them entangled in his bed, nude, she still on top of him, his arms protectively around her and her face buried in the crook of his neck. They had both had the night of their lives, and done it multiple times. Never before had Robin received such attentive foreplay, which seemed, for Strike, to be as important of the whole act of sex, and to which he devoted almost an hour, giving her two orgasms that left her legs like jelly. As she opened her eyes, she felt her body wouldn't recover in days. It had only been too pleasurable.

But as she contemplated the sleepy face of the man she suspected she had fallen in love with, she thought she wouldn't mind living the same torment time after time.

She realized she had fallen asleep again, lured into Morpheus' arms by the warmth and comfort of Strike's body around hers, when he woke her up in the morning, with kisses and breakfast in bed.

“I could get used to it,” Robin chuckled happily sitting up and licking her lips at the sight of the breakfast tray. Strike was still shirtless but wearing boxers, showing long, muscled, hairy legs, and a fit, muscled-up body. He had got on some weight during the first few years putting-up the agency, which Robin had never minded, even though at times he could've been described as slightly plump. Now, however, he had lost it again. “Okay put some clothes on, how am I supposed to eat with such distraction?”

Strike smirked and raised eyebrows.

“The same way I'm doing it,” he replied, putting a biscuit in his mouth while his eyes dared to her nipples shamelessly. She blushed and smacked him tenderly, sniggering. She felt in the best of moods, despite the mission ahead.

“C'me here,” she cupped his face between her hands and pulled him into an open-mouthed kiss.

In the end, they got too entertained in the shower and Nick and Ilsa, who were driving them to the airport with Lucy, had to wait in the car down at the street.

“We're here!” Strike bellowed hurrying with Robin into the vehicle once they had stuffed their bags into the suitcase. They travelled light, because they knew they'd be coming and going and because the army didn't allow huge luggage. “Hardy will pick us up at the airport in Afghanistan, by the way.”

“Good,” Lucy smiled at them.

As they chatted in the car, Strike dissimulated and kept his hand by Robin's between them, brushing with the back of her hand, careful with not being uncovered. They were bid farewell with hugs and good luck wishes and promised to call often, before they passed through the security arch and into the waiting area, where Robin phoned her family to let them know she was about to get on board of the plane with Strike, who sat on a chair with his book of Arabic, revising his language skills.

“Still got it!” he announced excitedly as she returned from speaking on the phone. She smirked and sat next to him. She had given-up on learning it, but still liked to hear Strike, who had learn the language over ten years prior, speak Arabic for her. After a few moments, and checking they still had long time to wait, Strike put his book back in his bag and looked at Robin. “So... I was thinking... perhaps we could find some time for a date, right? I know some nice places in Kabul. Great city.”

Robin couldn't help the smile she got.

“You plan on dating me?” then Strike looked confused.

“Shouldn't I?”

“No, I mean,” she looked at him shyly. “I didn't think you wanted more than a night-stand. But it's great!” she added, seeing he was going to panic. “It'd be lovely to date you.”

“Good,” he could now smile and relax. “Because I think we'd be a great couple, Robin. I want to be with you, if you'd have me.”

By all answer, she pulled him in, and they made out until they were called into their plane.

  
  



	10. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you always for the support and your comments, which are always, even if they're only emojis or short things, very much valued and appreciated and keep my work in AO3 going.

**Chapter 10:**

_March, 2013_.

Around four months and over a dozen dates later, they were having a great deal of success in Afghanistan, while their agency was still managing just fine in London, with their aid from afar. Strike and Robin were staying in a flat in down-town Kabul, with Hardacre staying in the flat right in front of their door, so they often met for cases. The case was proving to be tricky and difficult, which explained why the army hadn't resolved it yet, but they were finally getting to the end of it and they didn't think they'd be in Kabul for a week more. The disappearances had stopped the minute they had put a foot on Kabul, which told them whoever was kidnapping the children probably knew they were there and thought they were a real threat to their criminal activities, but they still had to find the missing ones.

On a sunny but cold day, Strike and Robin had been at the flat making love after a lunch date. Later, while Robin finished showering, Strike lied on bed in his boxers, reading a newspaper.

“So where are we meeting Graham?” Robin asked exiting the en-suite bathroom, fully naked, drying her hair with a towel. Their flat was warm with heating and when Strike looked up at her, he almost forgot how to breathe. It still took him by surprise that she was so damn beautiful, even after months of their romance, of which their families had already heard around the festivities of December, as they had video-conferences to feel closer.

“Oh,” Strike's brain seemed to caught-up, but Robin was already smirking, amused, and raising an eyebrow. “That place you like around the corner.”

“Good,” Robin approached him and kissed him tenderly, leaning over him. “It's fun, living with you.” She said pulling apart and marvelling with his expression of having been hit with a bat.

“Everything is fun with you. Come here...”

An hour later, the three, along with a few other soldiers, everyone dressed like tourists, chatted as they had dinner in a restaurant.

“So we're pretty sure this guy did it, and he keeps them right here, in the abandoned building Therese saw,” Strike pointed the map, pressing his finger on a deserted area outside Kabul. “Very likely to be in the basement here. I'm afraid we might be too late, the children could be well-gone by now... but it's worth the try. In any case, he's probably there.”

“If not, he'll be found in his flat, packing his things,” Robin added.

They had a main suspect they were set on stone with, a British cadet of whom the army had suspected for a year to be involved in some criminal activities, but they didn't know which ones. Strike and Robin had gathered a reasonable amount of strong evidence against him, and with the army, they had spied on his life for weeks and been able to determine every movement.

“Then we can't wait anymore,” said Hardacre's superior. “We must go in tomorrow morning, without more waiting. We've got the trucks, we'll ambush them.”

“I should go as well,” Robin said.

“No, it's too dangerous,” said Hardacre right away. “You two are civilians, you'll stay-,”

“Graham,” Robin cut him. “Those children have been kidnapped in God knows which conditions for months now, we don't know if they've been raped, abused, hit, prostituted, sold... all sorts of things could've happened to them,” and her imagination had easily kept her awake at night thinking of those, relying on Strike to lure her back to sleep. “I've got a degree in psychology and a degree in criminology, I'm not just anybody, I can help. I should be there to help those kids, they're going to be crazy scared, they won't trust you.”

“As much as it pains me, she's right,” Strike nodded. “And I'm not letting her go without me. I'll go as well. She's good with kids, my nephews adore her, if she's there those children will be all right, and I can serve as a translator for her, and be another pair of hands in case of conflict, right? We don't know how many children there are, our approximations say dozens, the more hands we've got, the better. We don't know what we will find. Could be thirty against ten, you know?”

“That's true,” another soldier commented. “So we get the kids and then what?”

“The families can wait in the hospital, Swasey, you call them,” Hardacre's superior spoke again. “We will get the children straight to the hospital, forming a convoy. The suspect will go arrested aside, Feiner, your team's on that. Hardy, you are to be glued to Cormoran and Robin, ensure they're safe at all times.”

“Yes Sir!” was the choir.

So in the morning, and after a sleepless night due to the nervousness of finding those children, Robin and Strike got in a truck with Hardy and joined the rest of vehicles. The plan was for the big team to go first and deal with the dangers, and when the area was safe, they'd go in so Robin could manage the children. The place was quite in the middle of nowhere, so their suspect had nowhere to run. They caught him and arrested him, although they had to shoot against a large group of criminals that had teamed-up with him, before they could free the children from a cell where they had been locked. They were scared and apparently, they had been used as slaves, to clean, to do hard jobs, but they seemed otherwise fine, only suffering sadness, fear, malnutrition, thirst and mistrust.

The SIB team fed them and gave them water, and Robin spoke to them one-by-one, using Strike as a translator. Once they were sure they were okay to move, and the kidnappers were on a vehicle surrounded by soldiers on the way to the headquarters for interrogation, they guided the children into vehicles, wrapping them in blankets, to take them to the hospital, where their families awaited. They were so thin and looked so miserable, many of them crying and just far too young, and Strike was mesmerized seeing how Robin could so easily make them stop crying and calm down with a hug, a smile, and some gentle words. Many children were lifted into the trucks by Robin herself, so she could make sure they all received a motherly hug. She didn't care if some needed a longer hug and a shoulder to cry on, she'd give it, even if the soldiers pressured with time, proving to Strike's eyes once again that she had the biggest heart there was.

“We'll go on a different direction to them, to take you back to your flat safely,” said Edna, one of the colleagues of Hardy. “Hardy, you drive ahead with McMillan and Wess, Raymond, you drive Strike and Robin, and the rest and I will go on the last vehicle behind you, to keep them safely surrounded, all right?”

Everyone agreed and got into the only three vehicles that were left in the arid passage. As always, Strike wasn't comfortable in the car, but Robin held his hand and drew circles on the back of it with her thumb, distracting him, even more when there were bumps on the road, to keep his mind off the IED explosion that had suffered the Viking he travelled in six years previously in that exact same country, and in which he had suffered, thankfully, only a concussion and a cut, now healed, on his head.

Due to the great length of hours of the trip back home, when the time to buy plane tickets came, Strike and Robin decided to take advantage for some tourism and decided to fly first from Kabul in Afghanistan, to Tbilisi in Georgia, which would be about nine hours in a plane, then spend there a few days, then fly around four hours more to Munich in Germany, where they'd spend a couple days, and finally, less than two hours to London. That way they made sure not to get too exhausted, get some tourism and travelling they normally couldn't do, and arrive home with the energy to meet all their friends.

Tbilisi was absolutely gorgeous, and both Strike and Robin loved it. It felt like a nice place to be romantic, forget the worst of Afghanistan and work, stress and anxiety, and just enjoy each other. It was a huge city, with a river and enormous buildings, but also plenty of parks and green areas, and the food was pretty great as well, so they ended up spending more than a week just from how much they loved it, and they took plenty of pictures and had plenty of dates.

It was in Tbilisi where, as they walked by the river one night after a date, and sat on a bench contemplating the views, Robin looked at Strike, and she said it.

“I love you,” it escaped her lips practically with a mind of its own, but she smiled hearing herself. Strike looked at her with the amazement of a child who's living their first Christmas, his eyes widening and his eyebrows raising a lot, and then he grinned, and held her hand.

“I love you too,” he replied, kissing her tenderly. He had known he loved her for such a long time, probably since she got married to Matthew two years prior, and Robin had suspected it for about as long. Spending Christmas, NYE, or Valentine's Day with him, doing what they loved the most in the world, in the other corner of the world, had been the last she had needed to see her feelings confirmed.

Eventually it was time to go to Munich, which she was also excited about. Strike had already been there, while he had never been to Georgia, so he was happy to show her the city he knew and also liked. He was looking forward to long walks around the Englishen Gartens, romantically holding hands and kissing. He had never been cheesy or a big romantic, but with Robin he discovered a new side of him that was exactly all of that, a side that got ridiculously excited planning things in his mind to make her happy.

He had dozed off against Robin's shoulder on the plane while she read a book, when turbulences woke him up. Robin sensed he had woken-up startled and gently lifted a hand to caress his cheek, so he relaxed and leaned against her shoulder again.

“Where are we?” Strike asked sleepily.

“Almost in Bulgaria, can be seen from the window,” replied Robin, kissing the top of his head. Strike nodded.

“Sounds good,” Strike closed his eyes again, yawning, her caress luring him to sleep. Then, another turbulence made him open his eyes, and when the plain descended a number of meters suddenly, making their stomachs come up to their throats, they both sat-up, startled, and Robin put her book down.

“What the...?” she asked. Some passengers were also getting startled. The plain did it again, as another turbulence shook it as if it was not stronger than a noodle, and the oxygen masks descended. People got altered and the air hosts hurried to calm everybody down and instructed them to put on the masks, saying they were experiencing some hard turbulences and therefore only in prevention for possible hard movements they were better off with the masks.

Strike took a deep breath and whispered comforting words to Robin, helping her to put on the mask before putting one on himself.

“Don't worry, just breathe,” said Strike putting an arm around her and kissing her forehead before adjusting his mask on again. She nodded and gripped his hand.

The plane flew regularly for a while longer, without more issues, and they were starting to relax when there was another big turbulence that made Robin close her eyes and grip Strike's hand so hard he lost circulation for a moment, and then it happened.

“A wing's on flames!” another passenger shouted. Strike and Robin automatically looked through their window and saw the wing on their side was surrounded by smoke and some yellow lights indicated fire. Robin's eyes widened, and she looked at Strike with panic.

She wasn't the only one. The entire plane, not one of the big ones but a tiny one, was now full of chaos, with panicked families and children crying, and the captain issued a message via loudspeakers announcing due to problems with one of the wings, they would force a landing on the sea, and instructed for them to put their life vests on and prepare for a difficult landing, leaving their belongings behind. He gave instructions about how to care of children and babies, and the air hosts were instructed to specially aid any family that had less adults than children so everyone was taken care of.

Strike made enormous efforts to relax, feeling panic rising in his chest. He was feeling the same bad feeling he had felt when he had suffered an IED, and he was almost shaking.

“It's okay,” he kept repeating, helping Robin put on her life vest. It was a good thing they had sent most of their luggage home with Hardy already to travel lighter, since they had to take so many planes, or else they had more worries in mind. “I love you. It'll be okay.” He added hugging Robin close once their vests were on, feeling her trembling beneath his hands, having seen tears in her eyes. “It's just the Black Sea. It'll be a bit cold, but we're right in front of Bulgaria's coast. We can see it from here. We'll just have to float a little, and wait, they'll send boats straight-away.”

“Don't leave me,” Robin begged.

“I won't. Let's help the families, okay? There are children here. They're terrified. We'll be fine, Robin. It's just a scare, we've survived worse.”

They focused on calming others down and helping, and then the captain instructed for everyone to sit down as calmly as possible while they landed, with seatbelts on. The landing began, with oxygen masks on, and Robin shut her eyes close and gripped Strike's hand. Robin had vertigo, so Strike had occupied the seat by the window, and his eyes focused on the smoke consuming the wing, black smoke with hints of fire, as Robin gripped his hand. Then the plane started descending quite hard, as the captain couldn't quite control the plane without a wing, and there were cries and screams. Then, the wing on fire exploded, and everything went black.

  
  



	11. Unexpected news

**Chapter 11:**

Robin woke-up coughing. She was floating in the water thanks to her life-vest, and she could only remember Strike shouting to open the seat-belt, before it all had gone dark. Her left arm hurt like crazy and she saw some blood pouring from it, but there was such amount of adrenaline in her veins, she didn't feel it much. She kicked her legs to swim and saw all around her, in the freezing waters, in the dark of the night, there were pieces of plane, people floating, cries and screams becoming clearer, pieces of luggage, and she saw the coast of Bulgaria not too far. She could probably swim to it. Boats were already coming.

“Cormoran,” she coughed, looking around. It was so dark, she could only see from the moonlight and the light from the boats coming to their rescue, pointing torches at them. “Cormoran! CORMORAN! CORM!”

Her heart drummed in her chest with panic, and she swam the best she could, ignoring the pain, the feeling of his shoes full of water, the dizziness, the feeling of wanting to vomit, the worries about sea life biting her feet, or drowning, or the other passengers.

“CORMORAN!” she kept shouting. There were a lot of people shouting. There was panic and desperation, and so much crying. And suddenly she saw him. He was floating with his life-vest, unconscious, looking pale like ash, with blood pouring from his head. What scared him the most was that there was blood in the water around him, a lot of blood. She wondered if something was eating it, but discarded it, remembering an article about the Black Sea life they had found on a magazine at the airport. There were no sharks, or nothing that would attack them in the surface. “Corm! Corm!”

She put the right arm, unable to move the other one, around Strike, and leaned her face close to try and detect breathing. She wasn't sure he was alive. There was so much blood.

It seemed too long until they were helped into a boat and then Robin saw Strike. Debris from the plane had severely cut his right leg below the knee, almost amputating it, and it was bleeding copiously, so they performed a tourniquet. With the leg barely hanging in there, literally hanging, Robin knew he was going to lose it, and threw up over the railing into the sea, before falling on her knees next to Strike and hugging him close while the rescue teams tried to help him. She could only think 'Please, please, don't die.'

**. . .**

When her eyes opened, she was in a hospital room and the sun came through the curtains. Her throat was dry and there was no one by her bedside except for a nurse, that explained her in sloppy English, but with kindness and full of gentleness, that she had been in a plain crash the night before and that now she was in a hospital in Varna, Bulgaria, and that her left arm was broken, but it'd heal fully if she rested it properly. It was in a cast and a sling, so Robin knew she wouldn't be using it even if she wanted. She was also explained she had a mild-concussion, that sixteen had died in the plane crash, and that she'd probably be discharged in a matter of days. Apparently, a policeman would come later to explain to her how to get home now. Robin asked about Strike, but she didn't know.

“Please don't be one of the sixteen...” Robin gulped, feeling like throwing-up again. She needed to call someone, but her phone, which she found in her desk, wasn't working, thanks to the water. There was a plastic bag with the little of her belongings that could be recovered and she barely had anything, not even something to wear. So she asked for her doctor.

The doctor did know about Strike, and told her he had lost his lower right leg, and would be put on a plane to London in a couple days, once he was stable enough. Robin demanded to fly in the same plane, and that was granted, as well as a phone-call, or as many as she needed. Thankfully, Robin had had nine years to memorize Nick and Ilsa's phone number. But before she was given the phone, the doctor looked at her hesitant and then asked, in English, but with a marked Bulgarian accent, whether she had an active sexual life or not.

“What?” Robin asked, disconcerted. “Why would that be relevant.”

“Ms Ellacott,” the doctor said, nervous. “You are pregnant.”

Robin's jaw dropped and her heart flipped in her chest. Pregnant. It certainly wasn't the moment, nor the way, nor helped with her state of anxious, worry-filled, plane-crash survivor, but it wasn't also something she hated. She had always supposed one day she'd have children, and had never given it real thought, it always seemed something in the far distance. At twenty-eight going on twenty-nine, perhaps she should've started giving it some thought, but she had divorced less than a year before, and she was in a happy relationship with a man who had some trouble connecting with children and that, Robin knew, had never wanted one. It was overwhelming in the moment, and for a few minutes she didn't say anything. Then, she felt that only answers would calm her racing heart.

“How far along?”

“According to the tests and ultrasound we did while you were unconscious, twelve weeks next Wednesday. Due date is October 9th.”

“And the baby... with the crash, is the baby all right?” Robin asked with a quiet voice full of worry.

“Surprisingly, yes. We were very concerned when we found out, and did all sorts of tests,” the doctor handed her a folder that, Robin supposed, contained a detailed information of every medical procedure she had been submitted to.

“All right,” she gulped, and nodded. “Mister Cormoran Strike is this baby's father, all right? So make sure,” she locked eyes with the doctor, hers bloodshot and damp, “his doctor knows and gives him the best possible care. Cormoran will meet his child.”

The doctor nodded. Robin then asked if it was all right for her to make that phone-call now, and the doctor put a payphone at her service, for as long as she needed.

“Hello?” Ilsa's voice came unsure. She probably had seen it was a Bulgarian number.

“Ilsa,” Robin almost cried hearing her voice. “It's Robin. Robin Ellacott...”

“Oh, Robin! Of course! Still in Kabul?” and then tears filled her eyes, and Robin, sitting alone and in pain, both physical, emotional and mental, on her bed, started crying.

It took a few minutes of Ilsa worried as hell begging her to calm down and speak out, but eventually Robin managed to collect herself and told her everything that had happened. Ilsa managed to stay calm, although Robin could hear her take deep breaths frequently and her voice didn't sound so steady, and asking Robin all the information; which hospital she was in, what things she had and what did she need, always practical, even more now that she was heavily pregnant, with the lawyer brain to keep her shit together even when hell was happening. She asked about her doctor's name, and the little information she could tell of Strike or remember of their plane, and then she promised she was going to hang up and immediately call the cavalry and someone would be right there with her before dinner time came. She said she'd call her when she had finished making phone-calls and in the meantime begged Robin to stay calm, lie down, and take deep breathes until the phone rang again, and if it didn't in an hour Robin was to call again.

As the honey-haired young woman rested on the bed, she unconsciously cupped her belly with one hand, commanding herself to stay calm for Cormoran and their child. She was three months pregnant, it wasn't to joke around. How hadn't she noticed the pregnancy, she asked herself? She stared at her abdomen, that only now looked slightly swollen, and reflected that many women didn't feel a thing. She had been submitted to so much hard work, stress, worry, and she had thrown-up at times, but she had always done it in moments of deep overwhelming, and imagined it was just that, anxiety. She had, after all, suffered from vomiting in high-school, when she was doing her final exams to get into university. Perhaps her breasts had felt tender when Strike's mouth attended them as they slept together? Yeah, could be, but it could also just been their amount of sex making them sensitive... and when had they forgotten the condom? When had she missed the pill? She must've confused the time when she was supposed to take it, with how busy they had been.

It took her conscious effort not to throw up, and she lied down with closed eyes taking deep breaths to avoid throwing-up. When the payphone rang again, Robin realized she had fallen asleep, and woke-up with momentary confusion, grabbing the phone.

“Ilsa?” she asked hopeful.

“Yes,” Ilsa sounded calmer now. “How're you feeling, sweetie?” she added softly.

“Tired. Bit in pain. They can't give me too many drugs because of the baby. Will you please come?” she asked, and her voice sounded broken then, unable to contain much longer, as a tear rolled down her cheeks. “I'm not allowed to see him yet, what if he dies and I'm not there?” she breathed heavily, and another tear rolled down her cheeks. “I-I don't know what to d-do!” she sobbed out. Ilsa just listened patiently. “We're all alone h-here!”

“Robin, breathe, sweetie,” Ilsa said tenderly, and Robin obeyed. “I know this is a very stressful, overwhelming situation, and you're so worried, lonely and wounded, in a country you don't know and surrounded by strangers speaking a language you don't know, but you have to remember there's a child inside of you now, and if you get too altered, you might make yourself sick, so you need to breathe, and you need to rest, and to remind yourself we here in London have it all handled, and everything is going to be okay.”

“You've got it all handled?” Robin sobbed, then sniffling, taking a heavy breath.

“Nick's bought himself a plane ticket, he'll be in Varna by lunch time, and he'll go straight to you. Lucy's made some phone-calls to leave it clear Cormoran is her brother and she's to take care of him and that you're her in-law, she's lied and said you and Corm are engaged, but she's made it, and now they're arranging to get you two home as soon as possible, your hospital's chief is organizing things with the Royal London Hospital to get you both here.”

“Oh thank God...!”

“I've called your family as well, and Sam, Andy and Ruth, and Ruth's coming with Nick as well, while Sam and Andy are organizing things at the agency to manage without any of you for a while, with Raven's help,” Raven was their secretary at the agency. With four people doing the job that had traditionally been done by two, Strike and Robin had felt very confident to leave for such a long length of time. “Your family's on their way to London, as well as Ted and Joan, and we'll host them, so you don't have to worry. And Estella's packed you a suitcase and she's coming with Nick and Ruth, so you'll have your clothes to get into today. I can't travel – doctor doesn't allow me anymore. But I'm helping arrange everything here and we'll be waiting for you.”

The hours until Nick, Ruth and Estella arrived, were some of the slowest of Robin's life. She knew Cormoran was floors below in intensive care, so after she was given lunch, she asked whether she might visit him, even if it was just for a moment, and the doctor accepted, so a nurse helped her onto a wheelchair, putting a housecoat on her and slippers on her feet, and wheeled her to the ICU. She broke when she saw him, covered in cables, surrounded by machines, with IV on his arms, and tubes disappearing underneath the bedsheets. He looked ashen pale, asleep, with some superficial burns that she shared, cuts and scrapes and some bruises. She knew below his right knee, there was nothing to see either.

“Oh, honey,” Robin breathed to calm herself and tentatively reached a hand to caress his cheek. His skin was cold, but he was alive, and that brought enormous calmness into her chest. She found his hand and carefully wrapped her own around it, and leaned to kiss his cheek. “It's me, Robin,” she whispered. “Listen, it's going to be all right, okay? Everyone's already organizing things to take us back to London, and we'll be all good. We have to be, both of us, because... well... I'm pregnant, Cormoran. I was just told, my doctor said it's three months. So... you have to be a Daddy, and get well soon. I know it's not what you wanted but... I hope it's okay. I hope somehow, you're okay with it. I love you.”

  
  



	12. Lone motherhood

**Chapter 12:**

_April, 2013._

They had been in London for a couple days only, after five days in Bulgaria. It had taken sedatives to get Robin into a plane back home, but she had made it, and she was okay, and Strike was getting top-class medical attention in the Royal London Hospital Adult Critical Care Unit in Whitechapel, with Robin glued to his bed every day from two to eight, which was the total length of the visiting time. Only two visitors were allowed by the bedside each time, so she'd sometimes agree to leave so Strike's uncle and aunt could visit him, or Nick and Ilsa, or Lucy and Greg, and every time she went, one of them would accompany her as well.

Robin was back in the life she had left behind five months previously, and during the morning she went back to work, to keep her mind distracted, but she found it hard to focus, harder to sleep, and found herself growing bags under her eyes, tired most of the time, and feeling as if her brain was nothing but foggy ideas that didn't quite morph into shape.

“Have you made an appointment with an OB/GYN here yet, love?” Robin's mother, Linda, asked her as they all had dinner together on a Friday, once Strike's visitors were back, at Nick and Ilsa's house.

Stephen and Jenny Ellacott, Robin's eldest brother and his wife, had come to London and Robin had given them her room in her shared flat, so Robin was sleeping in Strike's flat, and her parents now stayed in the guest room there. Therefore dinners and lunches were usually when everybody got together, as Nick and Ilsa would often organize at least dinners, since they both worked and had lunch at work almost daily, so everybody, even Estella and Strike's family, could come and they could take care of everyone, aiding Robin, who barely had it in her these days to make sure her family was well-cared-for in London, even thought they kept reassuring her she didn't have to babysit them. On this occasion, Lucy and Greg had managed for his parents to stay with the boys, and Estella was having dinner outside with her girlfriend, so it was only slightly less crowded.

“No,” Robin replied barely eating her dinner, supporting her head on her hand because, even though she knew she shouldn't put her elbows on the table, she was too tired. “It can wait until Cormoran's discharged, I was already looked-after in Varna.”

“Sorry to tell you, Robin, but by the time Oggy's discharged, you may be about to give birth,” Nick intervened, putting his glass back on the table after taking a sip of beer.

“So long?” Stephen inquired, surprised.

“The average hospital stay after an amputation is about two months,” Nick explained. “And he does have a nasty infection, which adds time, and blast injuries, so... that's not something a doctor would be nothing but overly careful about, they'll want to keep him in a bacteria-isolated environment for as long as possible. Besides, even when he's feeling great, he'll still need to stay until the physiotherapist considers he's in a good shape and with enough basic amputee training to manage outside the hospital, you know, knowing how to move on crutches and with the strength to do so. In short... I wouldn't think much of Cornish beaches for the summer.”

“Beaches?” Robin snorted. “Showering gives me chills, we won't be touching the ocean again unless it's drugged-up.”

“You're right, sorry, it slipped...” she made a gesture of 'it's nothing', and they continued eating, some more than others.

“So it's better if you make the appointments now, before the four months mark,” Michael offered gently. “There's nothing you can do for Corm, but there's a lot you can do for yourself and that baby, and they're going to need you strong.”

“I know, Dad, but between going to a doctor days after one's already cared for me and taking care of the bills, the paperwork, the legal shit of the crash, work, insurances and etcetera, you'll understand an ultrasound isn't my priority right now. It may be next week, but right now, I've got enough on my plate. Besides, Corm and I did this absolutely stupid thing of thinking we'd never get hurt together at once, so we put each other in charge of everything in case anything happened, which means now I'm the person in charge of the whole agency, his flat, his medical decisions, and then all of my own things, while not being fine myself, so yeah. Fun times.” She said full of sarcasm. Michael sitting next to her, sighed and rubbed her back.

“Is there anything we can do?” Lucy asked, looking sadly at Robin, who shook her head.

“Thank you, but you've all done so much already. Ilsa's taking care of the legal stuff and the rest's on me.”

“Have they said why it happened, though?” Aunt Joan inquired.

“Last they said was damage to the wing caused during the flight by unknown causes,” replied Ilsa.

“So basically they're trying to throw the blames on someone else,” Ted shook his head disapprovingly, leaning back on his chair.

“Yeah, I saw on the news that they said there was an obstruction and the wing simply stopped working,” Jenny added over her meal.

“Obstruction?” Robin frowned. “That wing exploded, right next to Cormoran, we saw it through the window. The pilot lost control of the plane with one wing on flames, the lights went off, and the plane plunged against the sea at such speed and from such high, it disintegrated in the air and we all crashed against the sea. That's the truth, and a dozen people more can confirm it.”

Her friends and family looked at her with a mixture of shock, horror and surprise.

“Jesus, Robin,” Estella muttered. “We didn't think you'd remember it so clearly, with that concussion.”

“I wish I didn't,” the younger woman breathed out, staring at her dinner and decided to abandon it. She wasn't hungry anyway. “Everyone was so afraid, we only had time to put on the life vests, there were children and babies crying, people yelling... Cormoran shouldn't even have been on the seat closer to the wing on fire, it should've been me, there was a mistake buying the tickets and mine had that seat, but I'm afraid of heights, so he changed seats with me. And he was trying to help everybody else before himself, the whole time.”

“God's sakes,” Lucy shook her head. “It's just terrible...”

“We shouldn't even have been in that plane,” Robin murmured. “I suggested him we'd stop in Georgia, because I had never been, and since he hadn't either... but if we had gone straight home from Afghanistan, we would both be just fine.”

“It's not your fault,” Linda said, forgetting her meal as well. “You and Cormoran have been working like crazy for four months to save those kids, away from home and missing all the festivities, it was only logical and deserved that you'd get a bit of a holiday, even if it was just a few days.”

“And changing the seat wouldn't have necessarily made much of a difference either,” Ted pointed out. “Look at those people that died. They weren't in his seat. Best we can do now, Robin, is just try to move on, as soon as possible, the best we can, and focus on the happy news.”

“Bit hard to see the bright side, Ted,” Robin smiled sadly, small.

“Is it?” Ted smirked at her. “You're pregnant, Robin. A baby, a new person in this family. And you're home safe, and Cormoran will come home as well, so it all will be fine and in a few months, we'll be celebrating your child, as if the Herbert ones weren't already enough to make this year pretty fantastic. So there are some bumps on the way, so what? That's life. People have plane crashes all the time. It's terrible, yes, but it could've been much worse. We ought to be grateful. Cormoran's a tough guy, and wait until you tell him he's to be a father, he'll be crutching away in seconds!”

They tried to see the bright side as well, Ted's words reverberating in the world. For some, it was easier; Nick and Ilsa would be having triplets late in June. But even Robin tried to think his way too, and reflect that yes, at least they were alive. She could've lost the baby, Strike could've lost them both, anything could've happened.

“That's another thing...” Robin murmured after a while, more thoughtful than anything else. In fact, she almost didn't realize she was talking out-loud. “Cormoran doesn't want a child. We must've messed-up with the prevention, for being so busy and tired. So there's a big chance he won't even want to know anything of the baby.”

“Oh, that's absolutely ridiculous,” Lucy said confidently.

“Why?” Greg, her husband, rose an eyebrow at her. “Jack's appendix had to burst for him to spend time with his nephews on his own free will.”

“Yes, but he would never turn his back on his children,” Lucy replied. “We're talking about someone whose father abandoned him, he'd never do the same. He'd shot his other leg before being anything like Jonny.”

“I don't want him to stick around just because he doesn't want to abandon them. What's the point, if he doesn't like being a Dad?” Robin inquired.

“Robin, you guys are practically parents already,” Ilsa intervened. “With that agency... he loves you, and he's loved everything you've done together. Don't worry so much, I know him, he's going to be happy.”

As Robin snuggled in bed hugging a pillow, she tried to think as optimistically as her family and friends, but her heart felt heavy, and the night was long and only about to start.

  
  



	13. Unwanted news

**Chapter 13:**

“Hi.”

Robin's smile was soft and gentle in front of his tired eyes. His eyelids felt heavy, his body felt as if it was under a great weight that made it impossible for him to move. He was uncomfortable, too warm but at the same time chilly, and tired, and his mind was so foggy he could hardly think. But it felt as if he hadn't seen her in a long time, so he looked at her with yearning, as she caressed his face and hair.

“Robin,” he murmured sleepy. “Robin...”

“Sh...” she leaned and kissed his forehead. “It's okay... We're safe.”

“Are we dead?” he asked quietly, finding it hard to muster enough energy to talk. Robin shook her head.

“No,” she replied. “No, we're fine.”

“Okay...”

Strike fell asleep again, and Robin contemplated him in silence. Next to her, Ilsa looked at her best friend from childhood with a light frown, as the women stood by his bedside in the High Dependency Unit of the Orthopaedics ward to which he had just been moved.

“He's still feverish,” Robin commented pressing her palm against his forehead.

“The infection hasn't left yet,” Ilsa said, sighing as she contemplated the man.

He still looked very ill, sweaty and pale, with bags under his eyes even though he slept a lot. He wasn't conscious yet of having been amputated, or what had happened; every time he woke up he was disoriented and confused, and fell asleep again after only seconds or a couple minutes at most. The doctors had explained he had lost a lot of blood, that the surgery had been hard on his body, that they had literally had to extract pieces of aircraft from his leg, so they had to be patient.

They had to wait a couple days more for the fever to really lower as the antibiotics seemed to finally be winning against the infection. Robin knew she'd have to be the one to tell him about the leg; it was only fitting, having studied psychology and being his partner. She'd been reading about it and she was confident she'd be able to do things properly. On an April's day, as she sat by his bedside alongside Nick, who had just arrived from work, Strike woke up seemingly more lucid, looking around with a light frown.

“How're you feeling?” Robin asked sweetly.

“'M t'red,” Strike said, his voice hoarse and deep. He yawned big, so much Robin winced feeling her own hurt just by looking at him, and then looked around and noticed Nick, the hospital room, the machines, his own body nude under the sheets, with cables and tubes connected to him, and bandages in the arms where IV needles had been. “What the...?”

“What's the last you remember, Oggy?” asked Nick. Strike looked stupefied at him.

“I uh...” Strike frowned, thoughtful. Then, as the memories rushed back, his eyes widened and he looked at Robin. “The plane, are you all right?” his hand reached to grasp hers, and she smiled, nodding.

“I'm fine, love,” Robin leaned to give him a peck on the lip.

“Your arm...”

“It's okay, it's just a minor fracture, the cast's coming off in a week.”

“Good! And where...?”

“The Royal London Hospital, Whitechapel,” Nick replied. “You've been very sedated and then very feverish, so you were sleeping a lot for weeks, and barely awake.”

“Right... weeks?”

“The plane crashed over three weeks ago, in the Black Sea,” Robin informed him. Strike looked shocked, but also tired, and he leaned back against the pillows, thoughtful. He felt a bit of pain here and there, but it was more as if he had fallen hard on the ground than nothing else. He'd be fine. “We were in the hospital for a week, in Varna, Bulgary, because the plane crashed in its coast, and then I was discharged and we arranged for you to be taken here, then you were in the Adult Critical Care Unit for a week and a half, and only recently you were given a room like this, but they only allow two visitors at a time in the ward so... but everyone's in London, to be close, coming as often as allowed. It's already mid April.”

“We know it's a lot of information to take in at once, so try to take it easy, mate,” Nick curved his lips into a tiny smile. “I promise I have all the Arsenal matches saved for you.” Strike snorted a laugh and scratched his scrubby face tiredly.

“Thanks, Nick,” Strike said. “So... the ACCU? What's so wrong I've been here so long? I feel mostly fine.”

“Well, that's because they've taken the best care of you,” Robin smiled, trying for him to keep looking at them and not at his legs. She knew he might still feel the leg, because amputees often experienced, even for their whole life, the phantom feeling of a limb that wasn't there anymore. “You had superficial burns, a good concussion, some blast injuries, cuts that got infected and then you had a massive infection and they were very worried about sepsis, so...”

“Of course,” Strike nodded vaguely, comfortably tucked in and accommodated against the pillows. “I hope no one died...”

“Unfortunately, sixteen did,” Nick said. “The captain, the co-pilot, a plane host, and the rest were passengers, fortunately no children. Most of the injured have already been discharged, and those who haven't at least are in their home-towns.” Strike nodded slowly, looking a bit sullen.

“When can I go home?” Strike asked hopeful.

“The doctor is unsure about that,” Robin replied. “Hopefully a few weeks more only.”

“Weeks? But I'm fine...”

“No,” Robin got serious, and shook her head. “You're gravely hurt, sweetie. You just can't notice because of the drugs,” Strike frowned, and Robin took a deep breath and took his hand in her own. “Cormoran, when the plane crashed, it disintegrated in a million pieces. Much of the debris hurt passengers, cut us and all. Some cuts were nothing, but when some of it got in your right leg, it caused serious below-the-knee injuries. I saw it myself in the boat that rescued us, you were unconscious and you wouldn't remember, but it was so bad, and you were bleeding so much, I was almost sure you were dead or about to die,” her eyes got glassy and Strike nailed his eyes on hers. “Your right tibia and fibula were fractured in so many parts and so badly, they had cut muscle and veins, and you had such pieces of debris inside that it caused that major infection, and it ruptured it more. It was an absolute mess, you understand baby? It was a terrible, unsolvable mess, and you were dying, and they had to make fast, drastic decisions. Anyone who saw it knew right away, there wasn't going to be a way to save that half of your leg, sweetheart. So, as great as the doctors were, and as hard as they tried, your leg was already practically amputated-,”

“No,” Strike's eyes widened. “No, absolutely not, I don't give permission...”

“It's done,” Robin took a deep, shaky breath, and squeezed his hand. “Your right leg was amputated below the knee. I saw it, Cormoran, and I promise you there was nothing they could do. It was already amputated, save for some skin tissue, it was the most shocking thing I've seen, after, of course, Owen Quine. The point is, you ought to know the best that could be done was done, everyone's tried really hard, it's a miracle you're alive, Corm-,”

“I cannot be... It can't have happened!” Strike angrily threw off the sheets, not caring he was nude, and his leg, or lack of, was exposed. His leg ended on a bunch of bandages and wrappings. “No... no! No! My leg! My leg!” his breathing got erratic and he gripped his thigh with both hands. His eyes were wide, and both Nick and Robin stood up. Nick rushed to get the doctor, and Robin put her arms around him and tried not to cry. “No! Who did this to me? Where's my leg? They have to put it back, they have to!” Strike roared.

“Breathe,” Robin kissed the top of his head. “Breathe, darling. It's going to be okay...” but Strike wasn't listening anymore. He had started to cry, and Robin, who in her life had realized, with her ex-husband, that when a men cried it was particularly tragic and sad, felt her own heart break for him. He was trying to pull away, rip off the things attached to his body, and get off the bed, so Robin had to wrap her arms around him firmly and keep him from moving.

“Let me go!” Strike cried out. “Let me go! My leg! Fucking bastards, what have they done?!”

Robin felt tears in her cheeks as she pressed the side of her face against the top of his head and tried to keep him from moving, feeling him shake and tremble beneath her arms.

The doctor and a couple nurses entered rushing, with Nick, and with comforting words, injected sedatives into Strike's arm and lied him back, tucking him in with the bed sheets again. They hadn't made Strike fall asleep, but the medicines made him relax and although awake, lie down more calmed, though with tears rolling down his cheeks in silence. Robin leaned wrapping an arm around his abdomen and kissing his cheek.

“Hey, Oggy,” Nick sat on the other side, rubbing circles with his thumb on his arm. “We're going to help you so much, okay? And you're going to adapt, learn, get a prosthesis and go on with your life, right now it seems like a mountain, but give it time and...”

“Shut the fuck up,” Strike stopped him in an angry murmur, glaring at him with bloodshot, damp eyes. “You don't have any fucking idea... _you_ have two legs. You'll never have to suffer what's waiting for me. Do you think I don't know? A bunch of my army friends are amputees. Chronic pain for the rest of my life, drugs, thousands of pounds in treatments and prosthetics, PTSD, nightmares, no more sports, limb swelling, phantom pain, the looks, the pity... this makes you end-up wishing you were dead. Add the age factor, that makes everything way more complicated, pain worse and recovery worse and with worse results, and you've got a perfect fucking cocktail. This isn't the life _I_ want. They've destroyed my whole fucking life. So don't you dare come and say it's okay, that everything is going to be fine, that I'll put on a prosthesis and get on with life and be happy, when you don't have any fucking idea of what this is like and you will never have to know. Neither of you.”

He let a pained breath out and covered his face with his hands, and sobbed into them. Robin and Nick exchanged a look of despair and sadness, and watched as the strongest man they'd ever known crumbled into pieces.

  
  



	14. Her trotting horse

**Chapter 14:**

One of the main worries, now that Strike knew he was an amputee, was that he'd get depressed and obsessed about ideas of suicide. The first one, happened from the start. He'd wake-up every time, thinking it had all been just a terrible nightmare, then look down, and find out it wasn't. The pains begun, the more conscious he became of the injury, as if it was also mourning the loss, and it created authentic agony, so he had to be strongly sedated, so much he could hardly think, his mind became foggy, and he hated it, becoming angrier and sadder, and more desperate, because he couldn't even scream about it, he just felt terrible and without the energy to let go of his fury.

So he cried. It became normal to see him perfectly awake, with tears rolling down his cheeks in silence, and eyes half-closed, because he was too sedated to keep them over. It was something heartbreaking to witness, completely crushing for his friends and family, used to seeing him stoic always, strong, tough. He didn't even reject their affection, but they knew it had more to do with not having the energy to argue and fight, and less to do with a lack of desire to do so. Robin tried holding him and hugging him, and repeating to satiety how much she loved him and how much she would always love him. She cried too, when her heart ached too much for Strike, for their baby, for her, when she felt too powerless, too useless... but she did it outside the hospital, in her friends' arms. She felt crumbling in front of Strike wasn't fair to him; he had a huge torment on himself, and any of her pain seemed insignificant in comparison. He wasn't ready to see other people suffer for him. He needed them strong.

So something surprising and amazing happened. Lucy, who Robin had always known as someone incredibly sensitive and emotional, suddenly became the most stoic, strong, tough woman she had ever seen, which was to say a lot. She didn't crumble, even when it was obvious she was sad, but she didn't seem to be struggling either, or pushing things in to stay strong. She had the way of looking of someone who's full of determination to get things done and pull her family through the storm with her own hands if she had to. And damn she got things done, like a sergeant. It was as if she had detected the situation was so critical, and all the ones who had traditionally stayed strong for her where so critical, it was the time to grow some ovaries and become a warrior, following the examples she had grown around. She was simply, boldly, determined, as if she had sworn to herself she wouldn't fail those who meant the world for her, and if they needed a leader and a warrior, she would be.

Therefore, she came to the hospital, listened to Strike without crumbling, with patience. She managed to avoid pity looks, to avoid any sign of weakness, so he would feel comfortable ranting to her, crying, or anything that was necessary, because he was just as amazed she didn't show the pain the situation caused, not in front of him. She coaxed him to eat, she coaxed Robin to eat, and she took care of everyone, going around making sure everyone was all right. Sometimes inevitably, she would cry, but she did it outside the hospital, and not in a tragic way of someone who's broken, but in an angry way of someone who's angry and frustrated with the situation, but determined to fight as much as it needs to be fought.

“I made you an appointment,” Lucy told Robin one day, as they sat for lunch. “For your fourth month, with the best OB/GYN in the Royal, so you're close to Corm.”

“You what?” Robin asked, full of exhaustion. “How even...?”

“Robin, listen,” Lucy looked at her with the same 'I don't have time for your bullshit' look she seemed to have frequently, as an aptitude towards life, as if she was telling the world to shut up and let her do her thing. “You need to go to every single appointment, because you're undergoing enormous amounts of distress and emotional pain, and that affects the baby, and I say it as a mother of three, all right? I know what I'm talking about. So I'll drive you to those appointments, and you will see that doctor and talk with that doctor and ensure your baby doesn't have to be affected for life by a bad period of time just because you're in pain. And I've called your therapy, and made you an appointment, weekly. You need to talk to a professional.”

“Lucy, I love you, but you're crossing a l-,”

“I don't care,” Lucy said. “Robin, this needs to get done. I'm nine years older than you, and I'm telling you, your emotional distress is going to fuck you over, and then is going to fuck up your child, which doesn't have a fix because it'll be embedded in its DNA. So you do this, and thank me later, all right? Do this, because you need the help, so you don't destroy yourself and your baby with your pain without even wanting to, so you feel better, so you feel stronger, so you can be the warrior your partner and child need you to be.”

Robin sighed, and nodded.

“Okay. Thank you.”

“And you Ilsa, darling, how's it going? Want a feet rub?”

Lucy proceeded to occupy herself with other people. Then Robin remembered Strike telling her Lucy craved responsibility, and proving she was different than Leda. Robin realized then that Lucy had had her arse kicked so much, and Strike's injury had been the last straw, to push her to a place where more than sadness there was anger to life for doing this to her, and she was so full of anger, it had made her a rock. She didn't waste time crying, because she was busy feeling like kicking asses and becoming the warrior she was meant to become. She was standing-up to misfortune and telling it right in the face to stop fucking with her family, because she wouldn't allow it. And she wasn't repressing her tears; she had no more to cry. Things, for her, had gotten to the point, where misfortune made her get the sword more than crumble. Her mother and younger brother were murdered, her son almost died when his appendix ruptured, her brother almost died once, and now her brother had a serious life-threatening injury, and her sister and nephew or niece were exposed to a dangerous amount of mental pain that could be life-threatening as well. Lucy was, literally, sick of it, and sick to death, so much, she wasn't going to have it anymore. She would fight her with all she had.

“I don't imagine is a good moment to tell Cormoran about the baby,” Linda added then. Robin's family had adopted a similar aptitude to Lucy, and were constantly trying to help.

“I'm not sure,” Robin shrugged. “But I have to. There's not going to be a good moment, at least not before the baby is born.”

So when she entered Strike's room after her fourth month visit to the doctor, with ultrasounds in her purse, and knowledge of the gender at last, her belly now showing slightly but concealed thanks to blouses and thick jackets, she decided it was time. Strike looked lost in his mind as always, sad, sullen, pallid. He was being given anti-depressants now, and he was always tired, emotionally spent.

“Cormoran, love, I missed you,” Robin leaned and kissed his forehead, used to his lack of response. “Hey. I've got something very important to talk about with you.”

“No offence, Robin, but...”

“It cannot wait.”

Strike looked at her, and his large, dark eyelashes moved, blinking. He was serious and sullen, and there was sadness in his eyes, an air of devastation, of surrender, Robin didn't like one bit. He had never looked so given-up, not even when he lived in his office, post separation, with barely enough money to eat, and working twelve hours seven days a week.

“What do you want?” he snapped, moody. Robin, although hurt by his tone, didn't blame him for it. She knew, better than most people, how sometimes one could feel so terrible he could only act rudely, and she knew it was nothing personal, that he loved her, but was going through too much of a hard time to show it like usual.

“When I got to the hospital,” Robin said. “In Bulgary... they had to do some tests, and the doctor found out...” Robin breathed in deeply and saw how Strike's pupils moved to nail on her with concern, his lips parting slightly, his breathing stopping of a moment. “Found out that I'm pregnant, and I didn't know.”

He blinked, frowned, blinked again, took a deep breath, and then looked at her without uttering a word, his eyes fixed on her. She looked down nervously, and pulled the large envelope with the latest ultrasound, handing it to him. He took it, and after a moment of thought, he opened it, and lifted the ultrasound paper so he could see clearly with the sunlight coming through it. He didn't know much about babies, but he had seen Lucy and Ilsa's ultrasounds and he knew how to identify a baby in one. _Ellacott, Robin Venetia – 16 weeks_ was typed on a corner, and there was definitely a baby there. He could clearly spot the head, although the rest was fuzzy. Sixteen weeks was an advanced pregnancy, it wouldn't be possible to abort it.

“It's a girl, she'll be born in October,” Robin said then, softly. “Our daughter. I just found-out now. I know it's not the best time to tell you but, I'm already starting to show, I've known it for weeks now, and I don't want to hide it from you, nor for you to find out when you start noticing my belly growing. You don't have to get involved with the baby, nor do anything right now... I just wanted you to know. That's all.”

Strike stayed in silence, and he put the ultrasound back on the envelope, which he left on the mattress, staring at a window, turning away from Robin. After a few moments, he finally spoke.

“Did you do it on purpose?”

“On purpose?”

“Getting pregnant,” Strike looked at her, “did you do it on purpose?”

“We had sex on purpose,” Robin replied, defiant. “But no, I didn't think birth control had failed.”

He nodded slowly, pale and sullen, and Robin sighed, leaning back in her armchair and wishing everything wasn't so complicated. She noticed he was falling asleep, so she retired to the sofa to read and try to think of something else while he napped. However, after an hour, Strike suddenly spoke her name. She looked-up and saw he looked still asleep, save for his half-opened eyes, as he lied down on the bed, staring at her.

“Yeah?” she got up, walking to sit by his bedside again.

“Will you help me?” he asked with a weak voice.

“Of course! What do you need me to do? Do you want something to drink? Do you need to use the bathroom?” she asked gently, caressing his stubbly cheek with the bag of her fingers.

“No, thanks,” Strike's lips curved into a small smile. “Will you help be her Dad?” the question took Robin by surprise, and she blinked several times. Strike looked shy. “I... I've never had one, but you've got a great one and... I don't want to disappoint her. I was thinking that, since you're a girl, you know the sort of Dad girls like, so... so I can be good enough. It's bad enough I don't have a leg to run around with her, but maybe I could compensate with something else... like... if she likes horses I could... I could put her on my knee and bounce her like a trotting horse, right? D'you think she'd like that?”

Robin couldn't help it. Before she could control herself and repress it, a sob had escaped her lips and she leaned to cry on the crook of Strike's neck. Puzzled, he put his arms around her and patted her back. After a few moments of heavy crying, Robin sat up, rubbing her eyes, sniffling and hiccuping.

“S-she'd l-love t-that!” she cried out. Strike smiled, and put her back into his arms.


	15. Cornish names and crazy women

**Chapter 15:**

It was humid and hot, although stormy, and Robin was specially glad to have her cast removed. Her arm felt weak but didn't hurt in the slightest, and the doctor declared it had healed-up perfectly well, the cuts had vanished into thin scars, and the bruises were gone. Looking at her, one wouldn't say she had survived a plane-crash, except from, perhaps, the deep bags under her eyes. Her breasts had grown and were tender and delicate, and her abdomen had swollen just enough for half of her trousers to stop closing, so she had to accompany Ilsa to buy maternity clothes. Now, comfortable with new trousers and a summer t-shirt with a thin jumper, even if it was still only April, she flopped on the armchair by Strike's bed as he lied down, like he normally did, bored, tired, and depressed. Everyone had tried to help, and he had finally acceded to let a hospital's therapist see him, but he couldn't help feeling crestfallen.

This was why his sudden behaviour surprised Robin, saying:

“You look beautiful.”

She blinked at him, wondering if she had heard right.

“Me?”

“Who else?” Strike shrugged, looking at her affectionately. “Your face's glowing, your hair's so firey, your belly's grown. You look amazing.”

“Thank you,” she smiled sincerely at him. “So how are you doing?” Strike shrugged.

“Dunno,” he said. “My life's boring these days.”

Robin stood up and sat on the verge of his bed, putting her arms around him and kissing him on the cheek.

“You know I love you, right?” she said softly. “No matter what. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Strike leaned against her. “I just don't know how we're going to do this. With the baby and all, it's just too much. I want to help you, and it makes me angry me that I can't do anything, not even get out of the bed.”

“Well, don't worry so much,” she said with her lips against his temple. “We'll go step by step, we'll go slowly. Right now, you wouldn't be able to help much, even if you had a leg, as the baby's growing inside of me, and when she's born, you'll be seven months post surgery, and most likely able to do a lot, and even if you couldn't move around, having you home loving us and supporting us, and cheering on, that'd be invaluable.”

He nodded, leaning against her and putting his arms around her as well.

“I'll do whatever it takes, anything at all, so I can make you happy.”

“Then live and work to feel better,” Robin's lips pressed against his temple. “Nothing will make me happier than seeing you happy.”

Robin's parents came to visit for a short moment that day, and afterwards Robin took them to Kings' Cross so they, along the rest of her family, could head back to Yorkshire. Robin had persuading them, alleging that there was nothing more for them to do in London, than she and their future granddaughter were just fine and Strike would be taken-care-of at the hospital, and they shouldn't put their lives on hold any-longer. Then, she enjoyed a quick nap, or tried to, because it was clouded with nightmares, and she went to have dinner at Nick and Ilsa's.

“You look tired,” Nick commented as the three sat around a home-cooked meal. With two pregnant women, take-out wasn't an option.

“I'm bloody exhausted,” Robin admitted, feeling at home and completely comfortable around Nick and Ilsa. “Despite therapy, I'm still not sleeping well, and as if life didn't require so much energy already, the baby requires more. Poor Cormoran felt so guilty unable to get up and help.”

“Really, hasn't it gotten even a bit better with therapy?” Ilsa asked frowning as she ate. At thirty-two weeks pregnant with triplets, she was enormous. She was also not sleeping much, but more due to her size than nothing else.

“I have less intense nightmares, but they're still too frequent,” Robin explained.

“At least Oggy's doing better, looks a bit less depressed,” Nick pointed-out.

“Yeah, good thing everyone was able to visit him, so he knows there are plenty of people there for him,” Ilsa agreed with a nod. “He's gotten so thin though...”

“Not like you,” Robin side smirked. Nick snorted a laugh and Ilsa chuckled. “Have you chosen the names yet?”

“We're so indecisive,” Ilsa replied. “So many nice names...”

“But we think we've got the definite choices.”

“For the boy, Kenwyn Cormoran Herbert, it's pretty set on stone,” Ilsa announced happily.

“Aw, what a rare name!” Robin grinned, looking at them as she ate.

“Yeah, we were thinking it'd be cute to call him Kennie when he's a baby,” said Nick with an expression of being satisfied. “But Kenwyn sounds okay for when he grows to be an adult.”

“It was my grandfather's name,” Ilsa added. “He was very dear to us.”

“You know, if it's meaningful to you and if you like it, that's what matters. I'm sure he'll like it,” Robin told them. “And for the girls?”

“That's more complicated,” said Ilsa. “I don't really know for sure.”

“So far,” said Nick. “We know one is going to be Elowen, which is very Cornish as well. I'm persuading Ilsa for her to be Elowen Ilsa Herbert, because of course she should have her mother's name, she's a rock-star,” he lovingly looked at Ilsa, who blushed.

“Elowen's quite nice, sounds cool and rare!” Robin opined.

“Right?” Ilsa chuckled. “I really wanted to give them a bit of Cornwall, living in London. So if those stay as they are, it's likely the last will be Amelia Morgana Herbert.”

“Cool!” said Robin.

“Yeah, we're happy,” Nick agreed. “We're just a bit unsure with the girls, but this seems our best choice... although who knows, maybe we'll look at them and think they look like Oswald!” they giggled, and then Ilsa remembered to ask Robin whether she had thought of any names yet.

“Not quite,” Robin replied. “Just found out it's a girl, by the way,” she thanked them as they excitedly congratulated her. “Yeah, first one in both families! I guess we could name her Leda, Cormoran would be happy, right?”

“Oh, that'd be so sweet and considerate!” Ilsa looked excited with the idea. “Although Corm's not a big fan of repeating family names, he rolled eyes when Lucy wanted to name her first-born after Ted, even when he's like a father, unless it was as a middle name or something. But Leda was such a kind woman, such a giving soul, perhaps he won't mind this time around.”

“Yeah, she's his mother after all,” Nick pointed out.

Robin looked full of curiosity. Leda had always been a part-mystery, even when she heard so much about her, very often from Strike himself. She associated it naturally with the inherent mystery of the dead.

“Did you know her much?”

The lawyer cupped her tea mug with her hands and nodded softly.

“She's always been Aunt Leda, actually,” Ilsa explained. “Aunt Joan and my mum have been best friends since school, so naturally Corm and I met as soon as we were both alive, and grew-up from there. So I'd see Leda with some frequency, as often as she was home. She was always happy to have me over for dinner or sleep-overs, offered to lend me clothes or do my make-up, she'd do those things a lot. I even have jewellery that she gifted me. I think a part of her expected me and Corm to end-up married, to be honest,” she added with a bit of a smirk, and Nick and Robin chuckled. “We had an arrangement so we'd go together to every school party, dance together... had every classmate and our families wondering, but it was a perfect deal. I wouldn't wind-up with some jerk, and he wouldn't have to stand some brainless barbie trying to hook-up with him, we've done it every time we've both been single at once. So Leda... she used to tell me to never marry, that it was boring and absurd, but that if I was to marry, then it better be to her Cormoran, or someone just as good. She was fond of Nick, so I guess she would've approved.”

“Oh yeah. Remember how she got when we started dating? She was so pissed at me when we broke-up.”

“Right!” Ilsa giggled. “So, yeah... I mean, no one really knew Leda, I think. She was... fire. She'd either burn you out or give you life, and she was considerably younger than my parents or any of our friends' parents, so amongst us all, she was the cool parent, you know? The one who tempted us to drink under-age, go to parties, have fun, and the one with the rawest pieces of advice, because she had lived so much. So naturally to me she was as Aunt Leda as Joan and any of my actual aunts, and Lucy and Cormoran, my siblings. I remember Lucy as a baby as well as I remember every corner of St. Mawes, and I think Leda was always happy that we were family, that we'd have each-other. She used to tell me one of the reasons she never had to worry much about Corm, was because she knew I was around, and once I was dating Nick she told me that she hoped us three would always be friends. She said partners come and go, but the good siblings stick together... and that she liked to think we'd always have someone there even if our parents couldn't always make it. And she was right. In the end, we've lived it all. I think she actually never really had real friends, and wanted for her children to have it different, better. She would've adored you, needless to say, you're totally her type.”

“Am I?” Robin asked, amused. Her friend nodded.

“Oh, yeah! You'd just have to tell her how you punched a serial killer, and she'd be your biggest fan.” They giggled at the thought, and Nick rubbed one eye nostalgically.

“Oh, man...” he said. “How I miss that crazy woman.”

  
  


  
  



	16. Of taxes and indivisible packages

**Chapter 16:**

As she stared at Strike's leg, she could see the bone coming out, the arteries bleeding non-stop, the cartilage, the muscle, the heavy damage. The remaining leg hung helplessly from a bit of skin, and it made her stomach twist and turn, and as her eyes looked up and saw Strike drained of colour, eyes open and empty, her heart broke in a thousand pieces.

With a whine, her eyes shot open and her chest heaved to inspire a load of oxygen. Her eyes scanned her surroundings. She had fallen asleep on Ilsa's sofa and Lucy and the hostess were sitting on a smaller sofa next to her, and looked at her worried.

“Robin,” Lucy sat on the verge of her sofa, putting a calming hand on her shoulder, “this has to stop. How are you going to go on without sleep?”

It was their weekly girls' night, a few mugs of tea and a bowl of popcorn while Nick visited Strike and they chatted until late. It used to include alcohol, but pregnancies didn't advice it. Robin had been so exhausted she must've fallen asleep on the spot.

“I don't know” Robin murmured rubbing her eyes as she sat up. A hand automatically posed over her growing belly. “I've tried, I've done everything, and I go to therapy... but some things are just too raw, too big, to be put aside so easily.”

“It's still soon. Hasn't been two months,” Ilsa commented, looking at her friend with concern. “Corm's not sleeping much either, unless when he's on meds.”

Robin visited Strike in the morning, rushing under a rainfall, the tube full of people and the streets full of pools, to the point that upon entering the hospital, it felt like a great relief. She removed her raincoat while walking to the lift and in just a few minutes more she was knocking on Strike's door.

“Hello!” she smiled peeking her head into the room. “Oh! I'm sorry, did I catch you changing?” she added, seeing how his shirt was open and he was sitting on the armchair beside the room seemingly changing into a different shirt.

“Hi! It's okay,” Strike smiled warmly at her. “How was girls' night?” he added as she flopped on the verge of the bed in front of him, contemplating him as he got into a different pyjama t-shirt. He seemed to have just showered.

“It was fun, you look so handsome, give me a kiss!” Robin demanded. Strike chuckled and leaned to kiss her, cupping her cheeky face with his big hands while she caressed her bare chest. “I missed you.”

“Me too. Poor thing, you came in with this awful weather,” Strike looked at the window, frowning.

“It's fine. How're you feeling? How's the stump?”

“Bit better, slow progress as my therapist says,” he said looking at his leg after putting the clean t-shirt on. “I think I'm emotionally a bit better, as well.”

“Yeah?” Robin looked at him happily surprised. He scratched his beard, that he had been growing as, Robin suspected, a way to be seen more as an adult and less like a vulnerable baby with his leg, and nodded a little. He looked older these days.

“Yeah... I think... I think I'm starting to see the bright side of things. Sixteen people died in the most horrible way, and we were the lucky ones. We were so lucky, we didn't even lose the one we love. And I know my life is just going to get harder and it's to be angry, and frustrated, and sad, and desperate, and insecure, of course it is, but at least I've got you. If you had died... I don't know what I would've done. It wasn't right of me to put is as I'd rather die than live this way because not only it was unfair to those who died but also to you. I wouldn't have wanted to hurt you like that, and even less with our daughter,” Robin's lips curved into a sad smile. “I'm here for you, for my family, for our friends, and I'm glad none of you have to suffer what would come from losing me, knowing as well as I know how it hurts to lose someone, I'm happy I can be here for all of you, and if the prize I have to pay is half a leg, it's not even all of it or more than that... then fine. I'll gladly give half a leg if it means coming home to my people to be with you and to be a Dad.”

“You're incredible,” Robin looked happily at him, cupping his face. “You're so brave and so strong, and such a good-hearted man, I love you.”

“I love you too. Always,” he put his arms around her and hugged her tightly. They hugged for a while, and when they pulled apart, Robin spoke.

“And it's okay if all these things you said aren't always enough, you know? It's okay if sometimes, despite the happiness of being with us, and being here for us, and of not giving us someone so loved to bury, if sometimes you're still sad and miserable. What we went through was still horrible, and we've got a right to have meltdowns and feel devastated, as long as we keep it in mind that it's temporary, and we focus on the bright side again when our spirits are higher. You shouldn't feel guilty if sometimes you don't care about the bright side. None of us can imagine how hard life must get for you now. And none of them can imagine what it is to survive a plane crash.”

“Thank you,” he nodded, taking her hand between his, “you're always so good at helping people, I'm glad you finished that degree,” he kissed her again and then squeezed her hand. “So, how's our baby doing in there, giving you much trouble?”

“Oh, not at all,” she giggled, touching her own belly. “Almost no vomiting, she likes all the food I like, and she doesn't kick too hard.”

“You feel her move already?” his eyes widened in amazement, putting a hand over hers on her belly.

“Yeah, sometimes. Mostly at night. Feels like... bubbles.”

“Oh God,” he looked excited. “Can't believe we're getting a whole human being. Crazy, isn't it?”

“Life's going to be nuts,” Robin put her arms around his neck and buried her hand in his hair, enjoying his presence so close. “I'm terrified.”

“Me too, but can't be worse than surviving a plane-crash uh?”

“Dark humour, I like it,” Robin smirked, his hands rubbing up and down her back. “How are you doing with the whole thing of having the child you never asked for?”

“Uhm...” Strike shrugged. “I found this article online, in the Guardian, that a writer wrote. She was saying how seventeen years prior she got pregnant of another writer who didn't want to have children and, like I did with Tracey, had left a previous relationship because of that. The man had told the article's writer that if he ever was to have a child, it'd be with her. So then she got pregnant. The writer said they separated and she got ready to be a single mother, but that they often spoke on the phone, and when the daughter they had was four months old, he came back, and she saw him smile like neither of them had ever seen him do, and he told her that their daughter kicked down the door and all the love came flooding. She said how later they even had a son, and nowadays he's still a writer, and he writes with more patience and care, as he's learned as a father, and how he's still a wonderful father to their two children.”

“That's sweet,” she said.

“Yeah. So it made me think... and you know, there are many things I never thought I'd want, and many things I thought I'd always want but then didn't. I disliked cheese as a child, and now I love it, and I loved Charlotte and now she disgusts me. People change. And I think that, like that guy... _if_ I were to become a father, it'd be with you. It's like... personally, I'd never want to go to Saturn, but if I have the opportunity, and you're coming too, then hell yes.”

“But...” Robin bit her lip shyly. “Do you want to be a father now?”

“Only if the child is ours. I don't know, Robin, I just think... you've never brought anything remotely negative into my life. You've brought a thousand things I never wished for nor expected, and every single one has been good. I somehow can't think there's a possibility you could ever give me something bad,” she smiled small. “So I think this daughter has to be great. She has to be something good, because you're making it. Because she's got part of your DNA, because she lives inside of you, wrapped-up in all the good I know you are,” he smiled sweetly at her, with illusion in his eyes. “And honestly I can't wait to see how she's like and all the good I know she'll give me, us. And I love her... because she's ours. She's not so different from the agency. She's something we've made together, with all of our care and all of our love, something we'll nurture and care for just like the agency, and something that, like the agency, won't always be easy, that sometimes will give us negative emotions, but that it will always be something we want and something that deep inside we love, even when it makes us angry. I just know in my gut she's going to be like having two of you, and it makes me so excited, really, and if it's hard... then I know it will be worth it, just like us. This wasn't easy. Our agency, our friendship... we met because you got raped and I happened to be there, for God's sakes. But it was so worth it, and so will be our baby. Who knows, perhaps she'll love detecting as well and we can make it a family biz!” Robin could feel tears in her eyes, and she couldn't help it. There he was, the man that had looked so sullen and so unhappy for days, and now his eyes were bright with excitement and his face was glowing and she had never seen him so happy, so cheerful, and so excited about something in her life. “I'm just praying she's got your heart, your humour, your kindness, your brains... God, even if she had just a little bit of you, how could I not love her? She'll be absolutely perfect. Just imagine her, Robin, our little detective! We'll take her to your uncle's farm when there's good weather, and to Cornish beaches, we'll teach her good music, and make her our little helper at the office, and we can put a little table on our office so she can draw and do homework and play while we work when she's a toddler, and we-,”

He didn't have time to say more, because Robin was kissing him hard on the lips, cupping his face between her hands as a tear rolled down her cheek. It was one of those kisses that take your breath away, and when they pulled apart, Strike looked at her shocked, and frowned seeing tears in her eyes.

“Oh, what's wrong?” he asked worried.

“Nothing. You don't know how happy you just made me,” she said with a big grin. He rolled eyes and chuckled.

“You're the world to me, Robin. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you. Nothing at all. Even managing life without half a leg. If I get to spend the rest of my life with you and our baby girl, then it's worth it.”

“That's all I want,” Robin nodded, kissing him again. “Just us three, together forever.” She said pulling apart and pressing their foreheads together, caressing his hair.

“Yeah?” he looked at her excitedly, with his hands on her cheeks. “That's what you want?”

“Of course!”

“Then...” he pursed his lips trying in vain to hide a smug grin. “Marry me.”

“What?” Robin looked at him surprised, pulling back just a little.

“Marry me, Robin. No inherit taxes, reduction in family taxes, inheriting pensions, equal parental responsibility and rights, we will always have an unquestionable right to be the other's next of kin... but not just because of all the legal bullshit,” Strike chuckled. “Marry me because we're in love. Because I will spend every single day of my life trying to make you happy, because we'll be a family, because we're perfect for each other. And marry me, so that everywhere in the world they always recognize us as a family, so that no one ever can even attempt to separate us, and so our daughter can always see that we're a solid package, and nothing will ever break us apart.”

“That was probably the least romantic proposal ever, marry me because of taxes, really?” Robin laughed, kissing the tip of his nose. “I married Matthew, whom I should've never married... what sense would it make not to marry you, whom I love?”

“Oh, marry me because you married Matthew so you pretty much owe me, that's the romance?” Strike teased, laughing as well.

“Well, no!” Robin bit her lip, smiling, and pecked his lips. “I'll marry you because the greatest prize nations created to partners was marriage, so that the law would recognize us as a team, and protect us and give us all the freedom to be everything to each other... and if we're given such prize, then I want to take it. I want to have everything we have the chance to have. And being Mrs Cormoran Strike gives me quite the thrill, to be honest.”

Strike laughed out-loud and she crinkled her nose.

“Fine. We'll marry so that we can shout to the whole world that we're an indivisible package.”

“Like beer.”

“Exactly like beer. The best kind.”

As their lips met again, with renowned intensity, Robin couldn't help her grin. She had never felt so joyous in her life.


	17. All we ever need

**Chapter 17:**

_May 20 th 2013_

“WELCOME HOME!!!”

The general roar was preceded by nervous laughter as their friends welcomed Strike into his flat. He was on crutches, and Robin stood by his side to make sure he was all good, opening doors and everything. The older man had just been discharged from hospital and he looked amazed at the flat. There were party decorations here and there, bowls full of food, glasses full of wine, and the happy faces of their friends. Strike couldn't even express how much he had missed them all, as not everyone had been able to visit, with the strict visiting schedule the hospital had.

“Oh my!” Strike grinned, leaning on his crutches. “Guys this is amazing! Thank you so much!”

Careful with his crutches, Strike hugged everyone and thanked them and was guided to a chair by the table and sat in front of an enormous cake that had written on the frosted a giant ' _Welcome home, Corm!'._ As the music sounded and they chatted and laughed, Robin observed him happy to see him to sincerely content, laughing out-loud with his friends, joking around with Dave, talking about work with Sam, Andy and Ruth, and also discussing football and just everything he had missed all those months since they had gone to Afghanistan.

“A big Doom Bar for Oggy!” Nick presented Strike with a huge glass of beer.

“That's my man!” Strike laughed giving it a long gulp, and Lucy brought dinner to the table, presenting a big chicken, just how Strike liked it, and kissing him on the head, serving him a big piece.

Strike kept thanking everyone as the party progressed and their stomachs filled. Robin and he hadn't told anyone they were engaged, as he hadn't given her a ring yet, and they had discussed it wasn't the right time for ring shopping. Robin didn't care about the ring, she could go without one the entire engagement even, she only wanted to be with him. But Strike wanted to get her once. He had never given Charlotte one, and he didn't want the same with a woman he actually wanted for real. He wouldn't want to equal those two women in any way.

“I'm just going to head to my bedroom for one moment,” Strike said getting up. “Keep eating, I'll be right back!”

“I can get you anything you need,” Robin offered.

“No worries love,” Strike kissed her and got up on his crutches, walking over to his bedroom. He came, indeed, shortly later, with a pillow under his arm, so Robin supposed he just wanted to get more comfortable, but instead, he let the pillow fall on the floor between his and her seats, and she looked confused.

“Cormoran, what are you doing?” she asked him. Then, to confuse them all further, Strike carefully lowered his right knee on the pillow, planting his left foot firmly on the floor and putting the crushes aside. He was facing Robin and, as she realized what he was doing, she giggled. “Get up, you're going to hurt yourself, you don't need to do that.”

“Just let me,” Strike smiled, shoving a hand in his pocket.

“Oh my!” Lucy looked at them shocked, commanding the table to shut up. Several stood up to see better, and 'ohs' were heard.

“Robin Venetia Ellacott,” Strike opened a tiny velvet box, showing a gorgeous duchess of hearts golden ring with a small, round emerald, that Robin was afraid to ask how much it cost, “will you marry me?” Robin rolled eyes but chuckled.

“Yeah!” she said. The ring was put on and they kissed as they friends cheered and applauded. “To be fair!” she said as they pulled apart and she helped him sit down on his chair, still facing her as she kissed him briefly once more. “You already knew I'd say yes!”

“Obviously!” he laughed, holding her hand. “Do you like it?”

“I love it!”

“Show around!” demanded Ilsa, and for the next few minutes everyone beamed at her ring, declaring it must've been so expensive.

“Not really,” Strike replied. “It wasn't expensive at all, as a matter of fact, it was free.”

“Free?” Estella inquired, surprised. Strike nodded.

“It was my grandmother's engagement ring. Uncle Ted gave it to me. It was a mere romantic gift that my great-grandfather made to my great-grandmother, and my grandmother gifted it to her son so he could propose to his girlfriend, my grandma. She wore it until she decided to pass it on to her daughter, my mum, and she was afraid it'd get stolen, so she gave it to Ted to keep it safe in Cornwall while she travelled so much, and said it should go to me when she died, for me to give it to any woman I wished, just like it had been happening in the family. And when she died, I again asked Ted to keep it safe for me, and when he visited, I asked if he could bring it,” Robin looked amazed and felt so much love towards Strike. That ring was probably the most expensive, precious family possession he owned, and he had chosen her to have it, not Charlotte, when he had had it all this time. He had even asked for it when he hadn't even asked Robin on marriage. “He brought it yesterday,” he continued, “when he came to help around as I was coming back home, and I didn't want to wait any longer.” He smiled smugly.

“Your great-grandfather must've been so rich,” Sam commented whistling at the ring.

“No, he was a miner,” Lucy commented. “Or a fisherman?” she added in doubt, looking at her brother.

“A miner, yes. Ted said he found an emerald one day, and he took it to a dear friend who crafted the ring for him, so he could give it to his wife. I guess he must've had to pay a bunch for the gold and all, but it wasn't as expensive as it would've been nowadays.”

“Oh my God,” Robin looked at her ring, teary-eyed. “And you want me to wear it? I'm tempted to store it in the bank, it's so valuable! God, your own great-grandfather found the emerald, this is so precious!”

“Don't be silly, Robin,” Strike looked sweetly at hers. “It was made to be worn in a beautiful woman's finger, don't be afraid of what could happen to it.

“Uhm, you guys, I hate to bother,” Ilsa interrupted, looking serious and holding her belly with both hands. “Thing is... I think I'm in labour.”

“You think?” Nick looked terrified all of a sudden.

“I mean, I thought I was just having Braxton-Hicks like the other day, but I don't think so anymore,” Ilsa said nervously. “It feels like... ouch!” she clenched her teeth for a few seconds, shutting her eyes close. “Ow... yeah... I'm in labour.”

“I'll call the ambulance to pick you up, don't you worry,” Robin rushed to grab the phone.

“Let's get you more comfortable on the sofa,” said Nick helping Ilsa get to her feet, as she was so uncomfortable.

“Nick, pass me the OB/GYN number and I can call for you...” offered Lucy.

Everyone got to their feet seeing what they could do, and Strike, surprised, took his crutches and tried to help, although he couldn't really do anything. After a few moments Robin announced the ambulance was on its way, and by then Ilsa was already needing deep breaths.

“Nick if you want to take a look I can give you some towels to offer some privacy,” Strike suggested, not really knowing how these things worked, but wanting to learn as much from the experience as he could, knowing that he'd be in one of his best friend's shoes in a matter of five months.

“It's okay, it's better the paramedics do it, I wouldn't know,” Nick hurried to attend his wife, whispering words of comfort. Strike and Robin exchanged an amused expression.

“I'm sorry I'm stealing the thunder, I didn't mean to!” Ilsa managed to say after a hard contraction that made her eyes teary.

“What are you talking about, silly-girl?” Robin smiled sweetly at her friend. “This is awesome!”

“Yeah, you go have those babies,” Strike encouraged. “It's what you've always wanted, and we'll be right there to spoil them and support you. And don't worry about a thing, it's all going to be just fine.”

“I'm pretty terrified,” Ilsa confessed. “Oh my God... oh God... they're going to split me in half!”

“Don't panic Ils, it's really easier than it looks,” Lucy said encouragingly. “It'll be perfectly fine, you will see! You're going to have three wonderful babies and will be all right!”

“And we'll be all around to cheer up!” Robin added.

Three hours later, Strike and Robin sat in a hospital waiting room with Nick's parents, waiting for any sort of news. They had been there for a long time already, and Strike had phoned Ilsa's parents in St. Mawes, Cornwall, to let them know Ilsa would be giving birth soon. It was odd to be back to the building Strike had spent the last few months in.

“Right when I was getting excited about getting out...” Strike had joked with half a smile as they sat down to wait.

As they waited and did bits of small talk, Robin couldn't help thinking that she'd be in Ilsa's shoes in only five months, when October came around, and the thought made her suddenly nervous, so she proposed to Strike that they'd go down to the cafeteria for tea, which he happily obliged. So they left the Herberts behind, and, Strike crutching and Robin walking, took the lift a few floors down and went to the cafeteria. There, Strike fetched a table while Robin went to the bar and asked for two teas and chips, which she took to their table, feeling somewhat better from putting a distance with where their godchildren were being born.

“That love of yours for chips,” Strike commented amused as he saw her open the bag greedily. “I think our little girl loves them just as much.” Robin chuckled, always unprepared to hear Strike speak sweetly of their daughter, and always loving it, caught by surprise.

Robin munched in silence for a moment, before she felt the need to confess.

“Labour freaks me out,” she commented suddenly. Strike looked at her surprised and then nodded slowly.

“That's understanding.”

“The health risks for both of us, the pain, the am I going to literally shit myself right there? Some people do... I don't know, it's just... scary.”

“I think, Robin,” Strike caressed her hand softly, “that when the time comes, you won't give a shit about shitting yourself or peeing yourself right there, or throwing-up either. I think when you see yourself in the moment, you'll suddenly forget all of that... because the only thing that'll matter will be birthing our girl. And there'll be a team of professionals right there to make sure everything goes smoothly, and if it hurts too much, aside from the meds, I promise to be right there and hold your hand and encourage you the whole time.”

“You'll be there? Many fathers rather sit nearby,” Robin said surprised. She had expected for him to just wait on a chair, even if it was in the same room, for some reason. This time it was him who looked at her with surprise in his eyes.

“Of course I'll be there,” he said matter-of-fact. “Holding your hand, kissing your forehead, telling you how awesome you are, and cutting the cord. We're a team, if I could do anything else, I would.” Robin grinned at him.

“You don't know how much that's a relief.”

“I'm glad,” Strike side-smiled. “And since we're talking about this, I've been thinking perhaps it's time to start suggesting names.”

“I've been thinking about that as well,” she agreed, nodding. “I mean, we can't call her 'the baby' much longer when there are about to be three babies around.”

“Have you got any ideas?”

“Yes,” Robin nodded. “Leda.” His dark eyes widened and then softened looking at her, as his lips managed a small curve of a smile. Before he could answer, though, his phone rang with news about the triplets.

  
  



	18. A deserved family

**Chapter 18:**

Elowen, Kenwyn and Amelia Herbert were born surprisingly fast, the first one being the hardest but the other two practically falling behind pretty quickly, so when Strike and Robin went back upstairs it was to visit the new family of five, around with Nick's parents were already cooing at the babies, snuggled-up in Ilsa's arms while Nick sat on the verge of the bed with his arms around his wife and children. Entering the room, Strike looked-up at Ilsa, and saw her hair dishevelled, her skin pale, exhaustion obvious in her eyes, and yet the happiest expression he had ever seen on her, and he had known her his whole life.

Although there were tears in her eyes as she looked at her babies, she had the sweetest grin and was glowing with the greatest happiness, and her husband didn't look very different, exhausted but equally beaming, his eyes crinkling as he kept whispering 'I can't believe it, we made it!'.

“Meet your godparents, guys, Uncle Corm and Auntie Robin,” Ilsa said gently as she smiled big at her best friends, who approached her.

Strike observed the triplets were very tiny and kinda cute aliens, looking all red and sleepy, but one of them had open eyes and the others half-opened their eyes every now and then as they stood by them.

“Congratulations, Mama,” Strike smirked, kissing Ilsa's cheek. “I'm so happy for you.”

“Told you it'd be worth it,” Robin added chuckling, looking adoringly at the babies. Ilsa laughed nervously and nodded, unable to speak much as she was full of emotion. Nick kissed her temple and rubbed her arm up and down, bringing her closer.

“They're absolutely perfect,” Nick said in awe. “And completely healthy. Our little rock-stars...”

Since Ilsa and the triplets would be discharged in the morning if everything went fine, Strike and Robin soon left the family alone, promising to visit once they were home, and drove back to Golden Square, feeling like it had been the longest of days. While she prepared dinner, he changed into his pyjamas and flopped on the sofa with a groan of delight, until Robin brought dinner to the sofa and he moved so she could sit as well. Halfway through dinner, as she stared at the evening news on the TV, Strike decided to answer Robin's name suggestion.

“I don't want our daughter's first name to be Leda,” he said, making her look at him expectantly, sensing there was more to the matter. “But for a middle name, yeah, it'd be great.” She smiled.

“Good, then we have it partially!” she looked satisfied, and squeezed his thigh. “Let's go to bed, shall we? I'm knackered.”

Strike agreed and in a few minutes they had settled in bed. It was weird, as they hadn't shared a bed in months, but Robin instantly snuggled against him, putting an arm around his belly and pressing her face against his side.

“Goodnight, love,” Robin murmured content.

“Goodnight,” Strike caressed her hair, but Robin didn't feel him relax in bed and after a few moments, she looked up in the darkness.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing, why?”

“You're tense. I feel it.”

“I'm sorry...”

“No, there's no reason. Just, what's wrong?”

He shrugged nervously, shy.

“I just feel...” he bit his lip softly. “Vulnerable? I don't want you so close to the stump...”

“Oh, of course,” Robin moved away a little. “Are you afraid I might kick it in my sleep?”

“Yeah, but mostly...” his eyes looked down, unsure. “It's ugly. I don't want you to feel it or see it.”

“Okay,” Robin nodded, understanding. She could feel him relax a little when he saw she was just going to understand and accept it, and not put up a tantrum like Charlotte would have. She moved to her side of the bed and snuggled on her side, smiling at him as she reached a hand to caress his cheek, and Strike looked happily at her, illuminated by the moonlight. “Is this okay?”

“Perfect, thank you,” Strike took her hand to his lips and kept it in his hand as he closed his eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“In your dreams, Ellacott.”

Robin smiled and was soon asleep. During the night, they both could feel the other wasn't sleeping much either. They'd often wake-up and feel the other was either not-quite-asleep or murmuring things in their sleep, and sometimes they elbowed each other by accident, or woke the other up. Finally, Robin completely woke-up nearly seven in the morning, and saw Strike's tired eyes already staring at her.

“What a shit night,” he said, seeing she was awake.

“Indeed,” she murmured, yawning. Strike groaned as he stretched towards her, wrapping an arm around her and caressing her belly.

“How's my baby-girl?”

“She's fine, I think,” Robin felt her chest swell as her fingers trailed through his dark curls and she saw him kiss her belly over her t-shirt. “You should read to her or something, so she recognizes your voice from the first second outside.”

“Good idea,” Strike yawned and moved to kiss her cheek and nuzzle against her neck. She let him come closer without moving much, so he'd feel in control of his leg and less vulnerable. “Are you okay? No vomiting?”

“I feel fine, thanks,” Robin replied, her nose pressing against his curls. It was a slow morning as they tried to muster up some energy to confront the day. “I just realized I can't visit Nick and Ilsa until the afternoon, I've got a meeting with a client, surveillance, and a case I'm hoping to close this morning, but you should go without me, representing us.”

“'Kay,” Strike yawned and sat up, grabbing his right thigh and shutting his eyes close. “Shit...” he murmured between grilled teeth. Robin worried, sitting-up as well and rubbing his back.

“Do you want your meds?”

“Yes, please.”

She quickly got up and rushed to the bathroom cabinet where she had stored all of his medicine, pulling a bottle of painkillers and taking one pill. Back in the bedroom, she saw his face had lost colour and he looked to be repressing serious pain, so she rushed to get water and gave him both, so he gulped the pillow in the blink of an eye. He released a deep breathe as the painkiller started doing some effect.

“I'll bring breakfast,” Robin said, walking over to the kitchen as she took an elastic band from her night-stand and started putting her honey hair up in a messy bum.

A few minutes later she was back in their bedroom with a tray full of fried eggs, sausages, and tea, and Strike was sitting-up with his back supported against the headboard and a bunch of pillows. His sullen expression transformed into a blissful one as he looked at her, and she felt cheerful and powerful from knowing she could do that to him.

“I think I've come-up with a name,” Strike said all of the sudden, while they were eating, as he gulped down food. Robin gave him a curious look, and he proceeded. “Julia Leda Ellacott-Strike.”

“Julia?” Robin raised eyebrows. She had never thought of that name.

“Means youth, and it was Caesar's family name. But really I just like it,” Strike shrugged. “I think it's powerful yet sweet. We can call her Jules, or Julie when she's a baby, as cute diminutives.”

“Julia,” Robin looked thoughtful for a moment. Strike heard her murmur a couple times 'Julia Leda Ellacott-Strike', and then she looked satisfied. “I think I like it. Yeah, I was just thinking... well, she will most likely have your hair, but she could also have mine, since in my family despite how dark-haired my Dad is, three out of four got my Mum's hair, and I wanted the name to fit a brunette and a ginger as well... I think this one does. And I like it's pretty and historical.”

“And no matter where she travels, they won't have trouble pronouncing it,” Strike added, chuckling.

“We're set then,” Robin leaned to kiss him, satisfied. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Okay, I'm going to shower and get going.”

“Need any help?”

“No worries, I'll just sit in the tub.”

  
  


  
  



	19. Like a Beatles song

**Chapter 19:**

An hour and a half later one was in the office and the other, muttering curses as he crutched his way to the tube and started noticing just how inadequate London was for amputees. Finally, over an hour later and having stopped to buy baby gifts that hung inside a plastic bag from his arm, he was crutching down Octavia Street, closer to lunch time than to any other time, and already feeling exhausted. He was already thinking of persuading Robin to pick him up by car later. He was going to push the doorbell when he realized that his best friends would murder him if he happened to wake-up their three newborns, so he pulled out his phone and messaged both Nick and Ilsa to open-up. A moment later Ilsa replied she was coming and, after a couple minutes, he heard footsteps and the door opened. Ilsa looked tired but still happy, and when she saw his tired and sullen expression, she laughed and pulled him into her arms. She needn't ask why his mood wasn't so good.

“Come in, I've got beer.”

“That's why we're best friends, honestly.”

Ilsa snorted a laugh closing the door behind him and following him into the sitting-room. The house was quiet and if it wasn't for the several baby-related objects in the entry, such as a big pram, you wouldn't be able to tell anything had changed. In the sitting-room, however, there was a brand new soft rug for babies, a newly acquired chaise-long big sofa that substituted one of the old sofas, and on the chaise-long part there were tree newly made babies wrapped-up in a blanket and surrounded by pillows in case they rolled-over. Strike saw a tea-mug on the coffee-table and the BBC on the TV and he understood Ilsa had been just chilling.

“How're you feeling?” he asked as he flopped on the other corner of the sofa and Ilsa rushed to fetch beer. As she brought a small beer bottle and sat next to him, passing it to him, she answered.

“Pretty well. Nick's just showering, he'll be right here... and you? Robin?”

“She's at work,” Strike shrugged. “I'm fine.” He handed her the plastic bag.

“Aw, thank you!” Ilsa grinned pulling out a giant teddy bear and a few tiny books for babies. “They're just sleeping, they're such quiet kids...” she leaned to kiss each of the three babies, that continued sleeping.

“They just want you to lower the guard and then they'll throw a party,” Strike joked, making her chuckle. “So your first God-daughter has a name.”

“Oh, does she?”

“Julia Leda Ellacott-Strike,” he announced smugly, drinking a long sip of beer.

“That _is_ nice!” Ilsa smirked. “Julia... didn't expect it from you. I thought you'd pick something more Cornish.”

“I've suffered 'something more Cornish' my whole life, won't do that to my baby,” Strike retorted, making her giggle.

“So it's Ellacott-Strike going to be your married name?”

“I don't know, we haven't really discussed it, we just agreed on making it Julia's name. I guess it could be our family name,” Strike commented. “We can legally use our single names for work and all, right?”

“That you can.”

“Then good.. I don't want Robin to loose her surname. She already did it for Matthew, I want her to continue being her own person with me and Jules.”

“That's very considerate of you, although I never considered becoming Ilsa Herbert was loosing a part of me.”

“It's all culture, Ilsa,” Strike shrugged. “A Spaniard would think that's very sexist, as they use two surnames and very often choose the women's go first. For us, it's normal... but between the gays it's already changing, they're being pretty equal, and if you've suffered rape and then married a dick-head who abuses you... I don't think it feels great to keep shoving your name down for someone else. It's not the same as Nick and you.” Ilsa's eyebrows furrowed.

“Matthew abused her?”

“Well, psychologically – you managed her divorce, how come you don't know?”

“Oh, yes,” Ilsa rolled eyes. “Sorry, I was thinking of rape, but you're right. Twat.”

“Amen...”

“Oggy, hi,” Nick grinned entering the room freshly showered and dressed, and sitting on the other side of the babies after kissing Ilsa. “How's it going?”

“London is not made for amputees, otherwise great,” Strike replied. “How's fatherhood?”

“Blissful, you're going to love it. Have you and Robin decided where you're going to live?”

“No, but I guess my flat. She's practically moved in, and I don't have a flatmate,” Strike replied.

“They're naming our God-Daughter Julia Leda Ellacott-Strike,” Ilsa told her husband, who raised his eyebrows and nodded, smiling.

“That's a good name, Julia. I hope she's a ginger, you've got the worst hair, mate.”

“Me too,” Strike admitted. “Although I think Robin wants a brunette, she's always liked my hair, for some weird reason.”

“She's in love with a fat bastard with pube hair and far too much love for alcohol and take-out, we've long established Robin's one of a kind,” Nick joked, making them laugh. In the meantime, one of the two cats the Herberts owned, knocked a pen down from a bookcase and ran away, but no one seemed to mind.

“You arse...” Strike shook his head, but chuckled and drank more beer. “Well I think Julia will be brunette, so I'm only praying she gets Robin's eyes at least. She's got two brunette grandfathers, one brunette grandmother, one brunette uncle, and one brunette father, it'd make sense.”

“Talking about grandfathers, did you tell Rokeby?” Ilsa inquired.

“Never,” Strike shook his head. “He's not her grandfather, for all I care. Despite my previous statement, officially Julia will only have two grandmas and a grandpa, Michael.”

“One person less to invite to your wedding,” Nick said, putting one of his babies in his arms.

“I still think maybe it's time to stop being angry at Rokeby. It's only going to harm you.”

“Ilsa, I'm not angry at Rokeby in the slightest. I just have no relationship with him whatsoever,” argued Strike. “Attempting a relationship with him would be as crazy and nonsensical as picking a random stranger across the street and forcing myself to be their son. That's all there is between Rokeby and I. He abandoned us, his choice, not mine.”

“Fine,” Ilsa entertained herself caressing one of her babies' foot. “I hate to change topics but you and Robin need to change therapist if you're not sleeping yet as I'm sure you aren't, by that face.”

“She was tossing and turning all night, and I'm afraid I wasn't much different,” the detective admitted.

“Did she ever stopped going to therapy after the divorce?” Nick asked, hugging his baby close. “I thought you made her continue it after she was held at gunpoint, right?”

“Yeah,” Strike nodded. “She was going, and doing better, but then we had to go to Kabul so she stopped. I kept a close eye on her in Kabul, I did, and she seemed better, doing CBT on her own and all... but now she really does look tired all the time, doesn't she?”

“You should be worried, she is pregnant,” said Nick. “You'd be surprised how much mental illness in pregnant women affect the foetus.”

“Really?” Strike scowled, worried, forgetting his beer for a second.

“High levels of cortisol, which is found in exaggerated amounts in people suffering from PTSD or depression, contribute to heart disease, high blood pressure, pre-term birth, worsen depression... and those are risks to both of them, you know?”

“Oh, fuck...” Strike puffed air. “I do know she refused anti-depressants because it wasn't good for the baby, but I didn't know it could be so bad. You think Julia will really wind-up affected from this?”

“Mate, I don't know, I'm only a gastroenterologist, but... think about it. Julia's lived in a home for five months, where she's been surrounded by stress, anxiety, and like her mother, dropped ninety feet to the sea, that is stressful for anyone, even more so for a vulnerable baby. I'm sure Robin's already thought thoroughly about all of it, and so have her doctors, most likely. If the way you lived as a child affects you to this day, why would it be different for a baby?”

“I should've thought more about it,” Strike sighed, shaking his head. “And our baby was created in Afghanistan, surrounded by conflict from the start... well, she's doing meditation now, she told me, so perhaps that'll help.”

“Don't worry too much, Corm,” Ilsa advised. “Whatever happens will happen with or without worrying about it. You guys survived and she didn't miscarry, so I'd say luck is in your favour.”

“But what if she's pre-term?” asked Strike anxiously. “The triplets were born pre-term and they're fine, can't be so bad, right?”

“Oggy, triplets are normally born pre-term, we were prepared,” Nick's lips curved into a small smile. “But yeah, don't worry. These days hospitals are so prepared, most of the time is fine, I mean, these kiddos are completely fine, if only a bit too tiny, but fine.”

“Exactly, Jules will be just fine,” Ilsa said confident, squeezing Strike's hand. “And knowing Robin, I think we needn't worry, she's always three steps ahead, so you just worry about getting back on your feet, and trust you've got strong women there.”

Later that evening, as Robin drove his BMW through London's busy streets and he sat on the copilot seat, he looked at her with adoring eyes. Her blue-grey eyes were fixed on the road, and her belly looked round and firm under her blouse, as if she had a tiny moon in there. She was simply beautiful, and Strike couldn't help wondering if everything would be just as beautiful inside or storms were about to come crashing.

  
  



	20. Bridezilla

**Chapter 20:**

The biggest difference between Strike and Robin's PTSD treatments was that while she was determined not to have one pill of absolutely anything until Julia was out of her, Strike, although not liking it much, would give in and take a painkiller, an antidepressant or a sleeping pill every now and then. He was starting to spend long hours working as well, and when he was too sleep-deprived to function he'd give in and take a pill or a strong herbal tea to fall asleep, following doctors' strict recommendation. Robin didn't have the luxury to do that, because she refused to put anything into her body that could harm Julia in the very slightest. So as the days passed, her exhaustion accumulated and she was more and more irascible, falling asleep in the corners and waking-up moody because her sleep was restless and clouded with nightmares. This affected her concentration at work, making her work more sloppy, and then worsening her mood with frustration, so it became a vicious circle.

Add in the mix wedding-planning and it was catastrophic.

“I don't want to marry in the summer, I want to marry in the winter,” Robin argued from the sofa, the skin under her eyes dark.

“But you just said the winter will be too soon because Julia will be too young, and that the next winter is too far away,” Strike said disconcerted. “Between one winter and the next we only have one spring, one summer and one fall, love. Choose.”

“Why do I have to choose? We're both getting married.”

“Then let's do it in spring, Jules will be around six or seven months old, will make things easier and will give us a year to plan it.”

“Spring? But there isn't snow in spring!”

“What do you care? There isn't snow in St. Mawes pretty much ever, Robin.”

“What?” Robin scowled. “But we agreed on a snowy wedding!”

“That was before we agreed on marrying at St. Mawes' Church,” Strike reminded her. “My love,” he had noticed using sweet pet names tended to placate her, “I want our wedding to be everything you've ever dreamed-of, but St. Mawes doesn't usually have snow, only every now and then. The last time I saw a good snowfall there, with snow settling, I was in my late twenties.”

“What?”

“We can marry in Masham if you want, with the snow...”

“No,” Robin puffed, scowling. “I don't want to start our marriage where I started my marriage to Matthew.”

“We could marry in Scotland.”

“Where I was raped?”

“Or in a different part of Yorkshire. Or in Nottinghamshire, I heard it's pretty... or in Norway.”

“I'm not marrying somewhere that has zero relationship to us.”

“Then London, it snows here.”

“No,” Robin refused again. “London's too... city! I want some country, it's our wedding.”

“St. James' is almost a forest.”

“Sure,” Robin rolled eyes, sarcastic. Strike looked at her frustrated.

“Then it'll have to be St. Mawes!”

“But it doesn't have snow!”

“Baby,” Strike took a deep breath to calm himself. “I am still legless, the snow would be shit for crutching, I could fall on my arse!”

Robin pursed her lips in concentration and then nodded with a sigh.

“You're right; it has to be without snow. St. Mawes will do, it has everything else and it's special and beautiful, we have great memories there and I'll still be able to wear a long-sleeved dress.”

“Of course. You'll be the most stunning of brides,” Strike smiled warmly, leaning to kiss her, his big hand cupping her chubby cheek. He felt her lean in against his lips and smiled against them. When they pulled apart, he opened his eyes and saw she was playing with the neck of his shirt, looking sad. “Hey, what's wrong?” he asked, looking down at her.

“Nothing, it's just...” Robin's shoulders slumped. “I'm a pain in the arse, and you're so sweet and patient. I feel undeserving.”

“The timing's just terrible, I understand. You're going through so much, it's okay to be a bit difficult, I won't judge. Suffering doesn't make you undeserving of love, Robin... and at the end of the day, you and I will get married, okay? No matter what.”

“Thank you,” Robin caressed his cheek, attempting to smile. Strike wrapped her tightly in his arms, nuzzling into her hair and squeezing her a little. He felt her sniffle and held her tighter.

“The world will be easier tomorrow. You just wait.” He promised into her hair. It wasn't hard for Robin to believe him, protected in his arms while it rained outside.

Strike prepared Robin herbal tea with chamomile, Valerian and lavender to help her fall asleep without giving anything weird to their daughter, and went outside to do some grocery shopping. As he entered the bookshop looking for some books on babies or anything that could help them with their issues, he slumped upon the magazine section and saw Charlotte was on the cover of _Cosmopolitan_ introducing her twins, Marco and Sophie Ross, that had been born the previous fall. The title was ' _Charlotte and Jago brag of gorgeous twins'_. Strike snorted and shook his head, deciding on a book titled ' _How to woo your wife all through pregnancy_ ' and absurdly asking for it to be wrapped-up as a present so he could pretend it wasn't for himself if the seller thought of telling anyone Detective Strike had bought a book that suggested his girlfriend was expecting. It was incredible how press hadn't said a word about Robin's belly yet.

On the way home, Strike's eyes fixed on a window display of another shop and within minutes, he had gone in and gotten a gigantic, brown teddy bear, soft and huggable, as the first present ever for his daughter.

“I'm home! Look what I brought to our sweet girl, she's going to love it!” Strike said putting the bags that hung from his arms on the floor and closing the door. Then, balancing on his crutches, he proceeded inside. “Babe, would you mind putting things away? It's so uncomfortable with the crutches. Robin?” Strike's eyes widened, seeing Robin was hunched forward on the sofa, breathing heavily, panting. Strike rushed to her as fast as his crutches allowed and sat by her side, putting a hand on her back and leaving the crutches aside. “What's wrong? What's happening?” he asked full of worry.

He then noticed she was having a full-blown anxiety attack, probably triggered by some dream, and he put his efforts into trying to help her breathe and calm down,until, a few minutes later, she seemed to settle down again, lying on the sofa and throwing an arm over her eyes as she took deep breathes. Strike went to grab the teddy bear, that he had left on the floor in the entry, and came back, handing it to Robin. She looked at it surprised and them smiled sweetly.

“Oh, Cormoran...”

“I've baptized him _Angus_ , because I figured if one hairy Angus was her mother's best friend, another one should be hers as well,” Strike gave it to Robin, who hugged it close and breathed into it.

“I think we're both loving it,” Robin said, reaching a hand up to grab Strike and pull him in. He managed to squeeze himself beside her and wrap his arms around them, kissing her temple.

“Is it okay now?”

“Yeah,” Robin nodded, closing her eyes. “It's perfect now. Do you know stuffed animals can help adults with anxiety or depression?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Funnily enough...” Robin sighed into _Angus_. “I feel quite sleepy now.”

“Then sleep,” Strike smiled, kissing her cheek. “Angus and I will team-up and keep our girls safe and happy.”

The next day, as Strike was visiting his therapist, he came out with an idea he had been thinking of ever since he had seen the day before how Robin had slept pretty well for the first time in months just with hugging Julia's teddy bear all through her nap.

“Emma,” he said suddenly, looking at the blonde who had been providing therapy for both Robin and himself for months. “I gave Julia a stuffed animal. A giant teddy bear I've named _Angus_ , after a pony Robin used to have as a child.”

“That's sweet,” the young woman smiled.

“Thing is, she's slept well with it. Weird, isn't it?”

“Actually, it's not weird at all,” the therapist looked thoughtful for a moment. “There are some studies, although not many, that say adults with anxiety, depression or PTSD can benefit from a stuffed animal to sleep better and feel less stressed and anxious. I only didn't recommend it before because there isn't evidence enough, but if it's working for her then it must be true.”

“It made me think... we live in a small flat, we don't really have much room for pets, but Robin has a dog in Masham, a big one, he lives with her parents, and although we wouldn't have space for him... I was wondering if getting a cat would be a good idea. They're clean, practically take care of themselves, we could put a litter box in the bathroom,” Strike shrugged. “It wouldn't be a problem. We've got space enough, make enough money these days, and we wouldn't need to walk it, for which I'm not fit with the crutches and Robin lacks the time. Would that help Robin? A cat?”

“It could,” Emma nodded. “It's a fact that cat owners' hearts are way healthier, that the purr of a cat can reduce anxiety and stress in humans and combat heart illness, and cats are great companions that can often make one laugh and snuggle with you and make you feel better. However, Cormoran, you are having a baby very soon, you have to calculate a cat, even though they're good with babies most of the time and won't grow to be too big and dangerous, nor will require that much care for you to have to split your energy too much, cats do produce enormous amounts of hair that could not go well with a newborn. Also, having a cat and a baby could be a lot given your situation.”

“Look, I confess I'm not quite the pet kind of person. At least not the normal pets, I fancy snakes, birds, fishes... but with dogs and cats... it's not that I dislike them, is that, like with kids, they don't seem to quite bond with me. But if a cat helps my wife feel better, sleep better, recover, and it also helps me, and puts us in a better condition to be parents... then why not? Neither of us is allergic, Robin likes all sorts of animals, and it could be a friend to our baby as well. I've been reading a lot before coming here, and the internet says some wonderful things on the benefits of having a cat. And we do own a vacuum if there's too much hair, and we could brush it, and keep the baby room cat-free to make sure it doesn't get in her nostrils. I just want to know if you'd recommend it.”

“If those things aren't a problem for you,” said Emma. “Then yes, absolutely. It would be very helpful for Robin and you.”

As Strike exited the consult, he smiled to himself. He finally had a solid plan to help his family.

  
  



End file.
